WAITING   FOR  "THE  VERDICT. 


BY    MRS.    K.    H.   DAVIS, 

AUTHOR  OF  "LIFE  IN  THE  IHON  MILLS,"  "MARGKET  HOWTH,"  ETC. 


"HOW  WILL   YOU   BK   TRIED?" 

"Br  GOD  AND  THE  COUNTRY." 

"GOD    SEND   YOU  A   GOOD   DELITERAHCB." 


NEW   YORK: 
SHELDON    &    COMPANY. 

1868. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867, 
Br  W.  C.  &  F.  P.  CHURCH, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court'  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  N»T«  Tork. 


7b  my  friend,  who  is  a  friend  to  all  the  weak  and  wronged 
among  God's  creatures,  they  owe  the  few  words  which  he  urged 
me  to  write  on  their  behalf.  It.  H.  D. 

AUG   27,  1867. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 


CHAPTER  I 

OVER   THE   FERRY. 

NOVEMBER  day,  twenty 
years  ago.  A  chilly,  pale, 
weak-breathed,  deadening  day 
everywhere ;  up  where  the  sun 
glimmered  feebly  along  through 
a  cold,  watery  sky:  yonder, 
where  the  sea  yawned  to  the 
horizon  like  lead :  up  the  bay 
where  the  water  moodily 
lapped  the  beach,  while  pink 
gentians  and  saffron  weeds  mil 
dewed  and  rotted  in  the  salt 
hay  of  the  marshes. 

Nothing  had  life  in  it  but  a 
frosty  air,  which,  as  afternoon 
came  on,  drove  up  the  Dela 
ware,  nipping  and  sharp  ;  it 
found  the  great  flat  Quaker 
City  locked  in  by  the  two  lazy 
rivers,  going  off  into  a  sleep, 
as  it  always  did  on  the  first 
hint  of  night,  like  a  ship  be 
calmed  in  a  fog.  Inside  of  the  houses  there  were  a  million  of  centres 
of  heat,  or  love,  or  passion,  but  they  all  turned  the  same  decorous, 
impassive  red  and  white  faces  to  the  pavement.  Down  on  the 
wharves,  as  twilight  approached,  the  piled  blocks  of  importers' 
warehouses,  dark,  steep,  white-shuttered,  stared  over  the  hucksters' 
wagons,  swarming  at  their  feet  in  the  shadow;  chilly  lines  of  bare 
1 


6  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

masts  sniveled  in  the  wind  over  the  uncouth  bulky  vessels  hugging 
the  shore  for  warmth,  for  miles. 

All  the  dreariness  and  dankness  of  the  day  grew  dankest  and 
dreariest  at  the  close  of  it.  The  keen  wind  tore  and  grated  its  way 
through  chinks  and  crannies.  Even  the  boards  of  the  ferry-boat 
began  to  creak  and  crack  with  the  frost,  though  there  was  a  Maine 
lumberman  on  one  side,  and  a  lime  brig  on  the  other,  wedging  and 
warming  her  between  their  great  hulks,  which  threw  ponderous 
shadows  far  up  the  wharf. 

-^  Josh  McNabb,  the  little  ferry  man,  after  bobbing  about  in  these 
shadows,  rolling  trucks  and  baskets  aboard,  dived  down  into  his 
cubby-hole  of  a  cabin  to  light  a  smoky  oil-lamp,  and  pulling  on  his 
overcoat,  and  coming  out,  heartened  himself  by  a  look  across  at  the 
,  upper  windows  over  the  tin  shop  on  Race  Street,  where  a  sconce, 
hung  over  the  red'  half-curtains,  showed  that  Jane  had  the  pepper- 
pot  and  coffee,  piping  hot  for  him.  One  more  run,  and  he  could 
turn  off  before  night. 

There  were  but  few  passengers ;  a  little  apple-cheeked  woman, 
coarsely  dressed  as  a  Quaker ;  a  mulatto  boy,  lying  on  his  back  on 
some  barrels  tussling  with  a  dog ;  and  his  master,  a  thin,  subdued 
gentleman  who  sat  in  a  chair,  tilted  back,  smoking,  and  keeping  a 
steady  watch  on  the  streets  abutting  on  the  wharf. 

"  A  country  parson  come  up  to  town,"  Josh  thought,  "  or  else," 
spitting  knowingly,  "  a  leg.  A  regular  leg.  Well  gotten  up." 

Whenever  he  passed  he  scrutinized  the  man  after  that  with  a 
policeman's  eye  ;  the  high  velvet-collared  overcoat  and  trousers  he 
wore  were  of  dust-colored  cloth,  new,  but  old-fashioned  from  haying 
been  long  laid  away;  his  head  was  bald  on  top,  a  thin  fringe  of  red 
hair  and  whiskers  framing  a  sandy-skinned  face,  the  features  of 
which  had  (never  been  compacted  together  by  any  definite  meaning ; 
round,  lightish  eyes  looked  through  a  pair  of  spectacles 'at  Josh, 
at  the  dull  town,  and  the  inhospitable  air,  with  a  polite  and  depre 
cating  smile. 

When  he  turned  his  head,  still  looking  uneasily  up  the  wharf,  the 
Quakeress  called  to  him  with  a  surprised  chuckle  of  a  laugh, 
something  between  a  chirrup  and  a  hen's  cluck,  "  Jeems  Strebling,  is 
it  thee,  or  thee  sperrit  ?  " 

The  gentleman  threw  away  his  cigar,  got  up  and  came  to  her,  hia 
hat  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  going  gravely  over  the  pudding-shaped 
little  body  and  doll's  face  with  its  dancing  blue -eyes. 

"  Miss  Yates  !  Ann  Yates  !  This  is— positively  this  is —  ! " 
with  a  shallow  laugh.  "  Yours  is  the  first  familiar  face  since  I  left 
Alabama,"  bending  over  it  with  assumed  rapt  attention.  "  It 
makes  me  young  again — yes." 

"Young  again?  How's  that?  Eh,  how's  that?"  sharply. 
"Thee's  well  kept,  Jeems;  while  I'm  scrubby,  and  shabby  ancj 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  7 

gray-haired,"  jerking  back  the  scuffed  bonnet  from  her  frowsy  white 
hair  with  the  same  little  chuckle. 

"  Well,  well,  well !  I'm  an  old  hack,  friend  Ann ;  an  old  hack. 
Consider,  it's  twenty  years.  But,"  with  a  sudden  exaggerated 
sprightliness,%  "  when  I  see  the  spirit  in  your  eyes,  I  feel  that  I 
have  found  the  fabled  fountain  of  youth.  I  feel — " 

"  Yes,"  dryly.  "  Thee  used  to  carry  a  good  supply  of  feeling  about 
with  thee,  Jeems.  Like  Turnagon's  ointment,  '  warranted  to  suit 
all  cases.'  Thee's  not  altered,  I  think,"  with  a  shrewd,  quick  scan 
ning  of  his  face. 

"  And  you  ?  "  with  a  bow,  while  he  looked  anxiously  over  her 
head  at  the  dusky  streets. 

"No,  I'm  Ann  Yates  still,"  tying  her  bonnet  with  a  natty  little 
bow.  "  I'm  that  goose  without  feathers,  or  crab  without  a  shell — a 
Friend  without  money.  But  the  Lord  provides — provides." 

"  Times  have  been  rough,  then  ?  " 

"  Only  when  I  tried  to  earn  my  own  bread  and  salt.  I've  taught 
in  my  day,  and  lectured,  and  scribbled  for  the  '  Liberator.'  But  I 
am  not  a  self-supporting  agent.  Once  that  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
to  that,  I  put  myself  to  higher  work.  Our  society  is  a  pioneer  in 
the  world's  progress,  thee  knows,  and  while  it  is  clearing  the  land, 
Ann  Yates  can  grub,  if  nothing  else.  Grub.  The  victuals  come. 
Sometimes  in  the  shape  of  corn-bread  and  apple-sauce,  week  in  and 
out.  But  they  come.  He  takes  care  of  that." 

He  adjusted  his  hat,  but  said  nothing.  Every  man  has  a  religion 
of  his  own,  and  Strebling  did  not  fancy  hearing  his  God,  who  was 
known  to  him  through  the  music  in  the  chapel,  and  some  vague 
grand  notions  of  His  old  dealings  with  the  Jews,  degraded  into  a 
purveyor  of  apple-sauce  for  this  leaky-brained  Yankee  old  maid. 

"  What's  thee  been  doing,  Jeems  ?  I've  seen  thee  name  in  Con 
gress.  Serving  thee  country  ?  " 

"  According  to  my  lights,"  smiling,  good  humoredly.  "  On  the 
other  side  from  yours." 

"  Yes  ?     Thee's  had  a  wife  ?     And  children  ?  " 

"  I  lost  Mrs.  Strebling  several  years  ago ;  she  was  one  of  the  Jar- 
ratts,  of  Kentucky.  But  I  have  a  boy,  I  thought  I  had  told  you. 
Bob  is  eight  years  old,  now,"  a  quick,  pleasant  laugh  in  his  face,  and 
a  sudden  color. 

"  Ta — ta,"  slowly  scanning  his  face  again,  "  I've  heard  it  said 
that  the  Messiah  comes  to  everybody.  I'd  like,  Jeems,  to  see  thee 
boy." 

"  Yes.  I've  been  bringing  Bob  some  trifles,"  pulling  out  a  small 
watch.  "  Do  you  like  this,  now  ?  It's  Lupin's.  The  seals  are 
flashy,  but  it  is  for  a  boy's  taste,  you  know,"  turning  the  glittering 
trifles  over  and  over  in  his  hand.  "It's  a  thing  Bob  needs — a 
watch." 


8  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  No  doubt,"  looking  at  him  with  a  quizzical,  sad  smile,  "  I've 
had  but  little  to  do  with  children.  Thee  never  had  but  one  ?  " 

Strebling  put  the  watch  in  its  case,  and  coiled  the  chain  about  it. 
Then  he  dropped  it  into  his  pocket,  slowly  looking  up. 

"  Never  but  the  one  ?  No.  Never  but  the  one."  He  turned  the 
uneasy,  frightened  look  again  to  the  wharf,  where  the  scattered 
groups  grew  dim  in  the  twilight. 

"  What's  thee  here  for,  Jeems  ?  Whew  !  this  wind  has  a  snap  in 
it !  "  getting  up,  and  marching  up  and  down,  with  a  mannish,  clip- 
'ping  step,  her  fat  hands  clasped  behind  her  round,  little  body,  her 
chin  perked  out.  "What's  thee  here  for?  Just  to  look  back  a 
bit,  heh?  Unrolling  Clotho's  ball  of  yarn,  I  call  it.  Well,  that's 
hearty.  It  does  old  fellows  like  us  good  to  smell  the  air  of  our 
youth  if  it  was  raw,  like  a  foggy  morning.  So  thee  came  all  the 
way  from  Alabama  for  that  ?  Peeping  in  the  chinks  at  thee  old 
boy's  play-ground?  Well,  well,  that  boy  of  thine  would  keep  thee 
nearer  to  thee  youth.  But  I  never  had  a  child.  Never  will,"  passing 
her  forefinger  thoughtfully  over  her  eyebrow,  again  and  again,  as 
she  walked. 

"  The  boy's  old  play-ground  ?  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Strebling, 
taking  off  Ms  hat,  and  settling  it  on  his  head,  nervously  preparing  to 
go  back  to  his  seat.  While  she  shook  hands,  chirruped  and  clucked 
about  him,  keeping  the  shrewd,  blue  eyes  on  his,  his  face  suddenly 
looked  as  if  he  had  found  the  boy's  old  play-ground,  full  of  damp, 
unclean  ghosts  enough. 

Yet  all  that  he  saw  was  an  old  man  and  a  child  coming  through 
the  dusky  cold  across  the  wharf.  One  on  each  side  of  the  great 
Conestoga  wagon,  with  its  lumbering  canvas  top  swaying  from 
side  to  side,  and  team  of  eight  roadsters,  each  with  his  chime  of  bells 
arched  over  his  back.  Strebling,  when  it  came  fairly  in  front  of 
him,  drew  himself  back,  growing  yellow  under  his  jaws ;  he  took  off 
his  spectacles,  as  if  to  dim  the  sight ;  he  took  snuff,  he  rubbed  his 
cold  hands  together.  You  would  have  thought  that  some  dead 
woman  or  man  freed  from  the  grave,  for  only  that  minute,  was  strug 
gling  to  reach  him  from  behind  the  drover's  red  face,  or  to  speak  in 
his  ponderous  Whoas,  and  Gees.  He  went  back  stealthily  to  where 
the  bow  of  the  boat  pawed  up  and  down  in  the  muddy  water,  and 
stood  shivering  in  the  clammy  fog  off  of  the  river. 

There  never  was  anything  less  uncanny  or  ghostly  than  the  hurly- 
burly  they  made  in  getting  that  wagon  on  board ;  in  fact,  there 
never  was  anything  more  wide-awake  or  jolly  than  the  whole  turn 
out.  Any  child  along  the  Pennsylvania  mountain  roads  could  have 
told  you  there  were  no  beasts  better  fed,  or  sleeker  haired  than  Joe 
Burley's;  and  every  bell  on  their  backs  had  a  special  cheery  ring 
of  its  own.  Nothing  of  the  ghost  in  little  Ross  Burley,  trotting 
about,  watching  the  operation,  with  a  square  basket  of  herbs  on 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  9 

each  arm,  just  as  her  grandfather  had  picked  her  up  from  her  stall 
in  the  Pine  Street  Market.  Marketing  was  dull  work  for  Ross. 
When  she  had  hung  her  bunches  of  sage  and  thyme  behind  her,  the 
fun  was  over. 

"  Two  for  five  pennies ; "  or,  "  Seasoning  for  your  capon,  sir  ?  "  was 
as  much  as  she  said.  Generally,  she  went  to  sleep.  Old  Scheffer, 
the  butcher,  would  laugh  when  this  happened,  and  sell  her  herbs 
for  her ;  he  never  woke  her  up. 

To-day,  however,  some  fish-brine  had  been  slopped  over  her  bench, 
and  Scheffer's  boy  jeered  at  her  whenever  she  put  her  head  out.  So, 
being  a  cleanly  little  thing,  with  a. dogged  temper  of  her  own,  she 
had  cried  instead  of  sleeping,  tasting  the  tears  to  see  how  salt  they 
were. 

Suddenly  the  market  was  filled  with  the  sound  of  bells,  as  if  a 
holiday  had  broken  loose  in  the  air,  and  there,  at  the  end  of  the 
street,  was  the  great  Conestoga.  The  sun  shining  on  its  broad,  red 
body,  and  white  tent-top,  and  the  swinging  trough  underneath,  and 
the  dog  Brouse,  and  her  grandfather,  looking  somehow  like  one  of 
Scheffer's  sirloins  of  beef.  Then  everybody  looked,  and  laughed, 
and  nodded  at  her,  and  ScheiFer's  boy  told  her  to  "  look  alive  !  "  and 
jumped  about,  sorting  and  packing  her  herbs. 

Ross  walked  off  beside  the  wagon,  proud  and  swelling  as  a 
pouter  pigeon.  The  fact  was,  boarding  about,  from  one  alley  to 
another,  she  never  had  had  a  home  like  other  children.  Nor 
mother;  just  Joe  and  the  wagon.  She  was  used  to  see  people 
crowd  about  it.  The  hucksters  in  the  market,  as  here  at  the  Ferry. 

"  How  was  beef  in  Berks  ?  "  "  Would  poultry  be  down  before 
Christmas  ?  "  etc.  The  great  clean,  stately  wagon,  with  its  train  of 
horses,  its  music,  its  smell  of  far-off  fields  and  dairies,  was  a  different 
affair,  rumbling  through  the  city  streets,  from  the  pert  little  cabs 
and  stages  slying  around  it.  No  wonder  everybody  looked  after  it 
with  queer  and  friendly  smiles.  But  what  did  they  know  of  the 
wagon  ?  Josh,  the  ferry  man.  might  bustle  about  it  as  he  pleased, 
and  even  know  the  trick  of  dropping  the  canvas,  but  Ross  had 
crossed  the  great  snowy  mountains  on  it,  more  than  once.  While 
they  were  pulling,  and  shouting,  and  swearing,  to  bring  the  horses 
on  board,  she  stood  near  to  Strebling,  thinking  of  the  snug  little 
kitchen  inside,  where  she  had  cooked,  and  her  bedroom  in  the  sweet- 
smelling  hay,  and  her  tiny  house  up  by  Joe's  high  seat,  where  he 
told  her  stories  all  the  Winter's  day  until  night  fell,  as  they  plodded 
through  the  solitary  forests  and  black  hills  glowering  closer  on 
either  side,  while  the  bells  chimed  in  front,  and  the  backs  of  the 
horses  grew  dim  in  the  thick  falling  snow.  She  hugged  herself  with 
a  snug  sense  of  possession.  It  was  nothing  but  a  wagon  to  Josh, 
and  she  was  glad  of  it. 

Meanwhile  he  and  her  grandfather  were  at  vork  with  their  sleeves 
rolled  up. 


10  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Them  dog-goned  critters,"  Joe  said,  "  'ud  balk  at  this  boat,  if 
'twas  ther  last  gasp." 

Sap,  the  mulatto  boy  on  the  deck,  plunged  into  the  midst  of  them 
with  a  shrill  "  whoop  ! "  He  was  a  born  hostler,  that  was  plain  ;  so 
long  as  he  slapped  their  haunches,  dabbed  at  their  necks,  swarmed 
over  them  like  a  katydid  on  a  log,  they  pricked  up  their  ears  and 
made  headway. 

"  Well  done,  boy  !  "  called  out  Ann  Yates,  at  which  the  lad  gave 
a  piping  yell,  and  worked  until  the  veins  in  his  neck  swelled.  It  set 
his  blood  boiling  with  pleasure  to  be  noticed  by  the  white  folks. 
When  wagon  and  horses  were  on  board,  he  found  Ross  playing  with 
his  dog,  and  stood,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  laughing  all  over, 
opening  and  shutting  his  mouth  without  making  a  sound.  Mr. 
Strebling  came  near,  looking  down  at  the  water  swashing  up  against 
the  sides  of  the  boat. 

"  I  never  saw  a  better  dog  than  this,"  said  Ross,  with  a  grave  lit 
tle  nod  to  the  white  man. 

"Him's  name's  Luff,"  said  Sap,  "  Ya  !  Luff!  He's  my  dog.  Me 
and  Runnel  Strebling  hyur,  fetched  him  from  Alabama." 

"  I  wish  he  was  mine,  then,"  said  Ross.  "  I  wish  you  would  stand 
off,"  in  her  shrill  little  voice  to  Sap.  The  dirty  yellow  skin  of  the 
mulatto  made  her  sick,  she  was  sure ;  it  was  the  same  as  if  a  toad 
or  snake  had  stood  upright,  to  see  his  grimaces  and  monkey  tricks 
of  delight  at  being  kindly  spoken  to.  She  wished  he  was  dead,  and 
out  of  the  way  on  the  boat,  and  was  sure  that,  if  she  had  been  a 
boy,  she  would  have  thrown  the  yellow,  grinning  thing  into  the 
water. 

"  Go  off!  They  want  you  at  the  horses  again,"  with  a  domineer 
ing  nod.  Sap  only  drew  back,  watching  her  with  a  sullen,  jealous 
scowl,  as  she  "  wrestled  "  with  the  dog.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
the  material  of  the  man  in  Ross's  little  body ;  her  quiet  little  face 
grew  red,  and  she  lost  her  breath,  in  holding  the  big  brute  down ; 
she  was  determined  that  the  beast  should  know  that  she  was 
stronger  than  he.  When  she  thought  that  he  knew  it,  and  lay  with 
his  jaws  between  his  fore  paws  on  her  knees,  she  patted  his  neck, 
and  put  her  arms  about  it. 

"  He's  a  very  good  dog,  I  think,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Strebling. 

"Ah?  the  dog?  What's  your  name,  now?  What  did  you  say 
your  name  was,  my  child  ? "  in  a  cowed,  frightened  way,  passing 
his  hand  rapidly  over  his  foxy  bit  of  moustache  as  he  spoke. 

"  Ross,  Rosslyn  Comly,"  with  a  sober,  surprised  look. 

"  Comly  ?  You're  a  blue-eyed  girl,  Rosslyn,  hey  ?  No  ?  Bro  vvn  ? 
And  yellow  hair?  Yel-low  hair,"  beating  a  tattoo  with  his  silver 
pencil  on  his  square,  white  teeth,  his  gray  eyes  set  and  watery  be 
hind  his  spectacles,  as  if  the  dead  face  had  succeeded  in  coming 
very  near,  indeed. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  11 

Ross  never  had  been  scanned  so  keenly  before.  "  It  is  yellow," 
the  little  girl  said,  and  as  she  was  a  thorough  woman,  though  yet 
in  the  calyx,  she  looked  down,  hot  to  her  feet,  with  sharp  shame  and 
guilt  in  that  her  nose  was  a  snub,  and  that  there  were  no  eyebrows 
as  yet  on  her  freckled  face,  worth  mentioning. 

"  And  you  sit  in  the  market  ?  Selling  herbs,  and  radishes — yes  ? 
My  black  people  sit  in  the  market " — 

The  boat  was  under  way ;  it  was  growing  darker ;  nobody  saw 
him  as  he  caught  the  little  red,  rough  hand  under  the  dog's  shaggy 
hide,  holding  it  tightly  a  moment. 

%<  God  help  me  !  "  said  James  Strebling. 

Then  he  caught  a  whiff  of  the  fish-brine  on  her  frock,  and  drop 
ped  the  hand,  putting  his  glove  on  his  own,  which  shook  like  a 
drunkard's,  as  he  walked  away.  "  It  is  a  most  unpleasant  odor — 
that  from  the  markets,"  he  said  to  the  Quakeress.  (It  was  notice 
able  that  he  stood  at  ease  again  when  talking  to  her.)  "An  un 
usual  combination  in  this  little  girl's  face,  eh  ?  brown  eyes  and 
clear,  yellow  hair." 

"  Um — yes.  There's  a  good  deal  of  outcome  in  the  face,"  looking 
at  Ross  through  her  half  shut  eyes  as  if  she  had  been  a  curious 
beetle. 

"  Mrs.  Strebling  had  a  strong  antipathy  to  yellow  hair.  I  used 
to  wish  to  bring  home — a  little  girl.  But  if  she  had  looked  like  this 
one,  now,  Mrs.  Strebling  would  not  have  tolerated  her.  It  would 
have  been  a  hell  upon  earth  for  the  child." 

Ann  Yates  continued  to  patrol  the  deck  with  him,  thinking  that 
twenty  years  inside  of  the  fences  of  his  plantation  had  starved  poor 
^Teems  Strebling's  brain  to  inanition.  Meanwhile,  he  stopped  once 
and  again  near  Ross,  talking  to  her,  the  mulatto  lounging  near  to 
listen.  One  thing,  Mr.  Strebling  said  :  "  I  mean  to  be  a  good  friend 
to  you,  child.  It  is  not  my  fault  if  I  have  been  late,"  looking  over 
her  head,  into  the  muddy  depth  of  river  fog  and  the  scattered  red 
sparks  of  ligho  along  shore,  as  though  there  was  another  than  the 
child  before  whom  he  pleaded  not  guilty.  Stepping  off  with  the 
Quakeress  again,  he  stiffened  his  lean,  padded  body  complacently,  as 
if  an  approving  conscience  within  cried,  Bravo.  There  was  a  wide 
gap,  he  knew,  between  the  little  herb-girl,  with  her  briny  smells, 
and  the  easy-going  planter,  half  of  whose  days  were  spent  with  "  , 
the  rare  old  dramatists  of  Anne's  time,  and  the  other  half  on  the 
race-course.  But  he  had  crossed  it,  and  she  was  grateful,  doubtless. 

Ross  was  pulling  the  dog  about,  contriving  a  saddle  for  him,  now 
that  he  was  hers.  Sap  came  in  front  of  her,  standing  erect.  "  He's 
my  dog,  Luff,"  his  sullen  face  sharpening  savagely,  as  he  spoke  to 
the  "  poor  white  trash." 

"  I  gave  him  to  the  girl  just  now,"  said  the  colonel,  carelessly,  in 
passing.  Ross  laughed  tauntingly,  glad  that  she  was  white,  and 


12  WAITING  B'OR  THE  VERDICT. 

stronger  than  this  yelloAV  moixter  of  a  boy ;  except  a  pet  fox  of  her 
grandfather's  and  Scheffer's  boy,  she  never  had  hated  anything  so 
much  before  ;  never.  She  put  her  foot  on  the  dog's  neck,  just  to 
vex  him.  Luff  licked  her  hand. 

Sap  stood  quite  still  a  moment,  then  he  went  to  his  master,  fol 
lowing  him,  step  by  step,  cringing,  his  stealthy,  dangerous  eye  on 
his  face,  his  tones  unusually  clear : 

"  Mars'  Jeems,  Luff  kent  go.  He's  mine."  Coming  closer,  the 
voice  sharper  and  more  wiry,  when  there  was  no  answer,  "  Luff's  not 
one  of  the  Strebling  dogs,  Kunnel.  He  wur  a  pup  of  Cap'n  Grant's 
as  had  the  distemper,  and  Cap'n,  he  give  him  to  me.  '  Hyur,  Sap,' 
he  says.  I've  nussed  him  dese  two  years ;  he's  well,  now.  He's 
mine." 

Mr.  Strebling  would  have  passed  on,  shaking  off  the  fellow  with 
a  lazy  look  of  annoyance,  but  the  Quakeress  stopped  to  look  at 
him. 

"  Well,  well,  boy,  suppose  the  dog  your's — though  it's  plain  it's 
a  lie  hatched  up  to  trip  me.  You  shall  be  paid  for  it.  Leave  th* 
girl  alone." 

"  You'll  give  it  to  her,  Mas'r  Jeems  ?  " 

Strebling  looked  at  him.  Something  in  the  gleam  of  the  light/ 
gray  eye  made  the  mulatto  cower  back. 

Ross  stood  up,  her  face  burning.  "  The  dog  is  not  yours,"  sho 
said  to  Mr.  Strebling,  fierce  as  a  little  game  pullet.  "  The  black 
boy  is  not  so  mean  as  you.  Be  gone  ! "  driving  Luff  from  her 

Strebling  stroked  his  beard  delightedly  at  the  blaze  of  temper 
"  It's  a  sign  of  good  blood,"  nodding  knowingly  to  Ann  Yates 
"  The  dog  shall  not  belong  to  Sap  again,  my  good  girl." 

"Mars'  Jeems  never  goes  back  of  his  word,"  laughed  the  mulat 
to,  shrilly. 

"  No.     I  never  do." 

As  the  Quakeress  and  his  master  passed  the  boy  from  time  to 
time,  they  saw  him  standing  quite  quiet,  his  hand  on  the  dog's 
head,  looking  out  steadily  into  the  river,  not  conscious  that  they 
were  near  him.  Ross  had  gone  over  to  her  grandfather,  sturdily 
turning  her  back  on  them. 

"  But  Luff  is  her's,  boy,"  snapped  his  master.  It  angered  him  to 
be  thwarted  in  the  first  kindness  he  showed  to  the  child. 

"  Yes,  mars',"  submissively. 

Ann  Yates  looked  at  the  boy  sharply.  Nothing  but  an  animal 
which  a  few  dollars  could  buy  or  sell ;  shambling,  under-sized,  loose- 
jointed,  a  puny,  yellow  face,  out  of  which  stared  the  treacherous, 
melancholy  eyes  of  his  race.  Yet  some  trick  of  expression  caught 
her  shrewd  eye ;  the  knobbed,  protruding  forehead,  the  discontent, 
the  appetite  for  something  better  than  his  brute  life  had  yet  known. 

"  It's  the  white  blood  in  him ! "  she  said  aloud. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  13 

"Eh!     How?" 

"He'll  balk  thee  yet." 

Mr.    Strebling    smiled   superciliously.     "  Poor    Sap ! "    he    said. 
"  The  boy  has  a  curious  mechanical  talent.     My  wife  brought  him  , 
in  from  the  stables.     But  these  niggers  wont  bear  coddling.     He 
has  the  insolence  of  the  devil." 

The  Quaker  was  right.     Just  before  the  boat  grated  on  the  shore,    j 
they  heard  a  whine  from  the  dog,  and  saw  a  rill  of  scarlet  blood  \f\)> 
creeping  over  the  planks.    The  little  mulatto  knelt  with  staring  eyes 
beside  him  on  the  deck,  his  arms  about  Luff's  neck,  smelling  his 
breath,  just  as  they  had  slept  for  two  years  in  the  stable-loft  at  home. 
The  boy's  colorless  face  looked  unusually  small  and  childish,  yet 
clammy  sweat  had  come  out  on  it,  such  as  pain  wrings  from  a  man. 
The  poor  brute's  dim  eyes  were  fixed  on  it,  and  he  tried  feebly  to 
lick  the  boy's  sleeve  where  it  touched  his  jaws. 

"  Did  you  do  this  ?  "  said  Mr.  Strebling. 

The  mulatto  nodded ;  but  he  did  not  take  his  look  off  of  the  dog'g 
face  until  its  eyes  grew  glassy ;  then  he  lifted  one  paw,  and  let  it 
fall  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"He  wur  all  I  had,"  he  said.  His  teeth  chattered,  his  eyes 
closed,  a  chill  crept  over  the  limp  little  body. 

"  Dear  me  !  dear  me !  Epileptic.  These  half-breeds  are  terribly 
diseased  in  body  and  mind !  "  said  good-humored  Mr.  Strebling, 
who  hated  a  scene;  and  he  walked  away,  nervously,  a  moment 
after. 

The  Quaker  looked  down  at  the  forlorn  little  figure  with  the 
muddy  water  oozing  up  about  it,  then  out  at  the  dusky  river,  at 
the  plane  of  gray,  unanswering  sky.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  they 
opened  to  her  suddenly,  dark,  dateless  years,  before  either  she  or 
this  boy  was  born ;  slow  generations  of  slavery  and  vice  which 
had  conceived  and  brought  forth  this  diseased  little  animal,  and  left 
him  at  her  feet.  Washed  him  there,  a  dreg  of  the  great  ebbing 
tide. 

"  And  I'm  Ann  Yates,  half  crazy,  they  say,  and  kept  by  charity. 
What  should  I  have  to  do  for  him,  in  God's  name  ?  "  would  have 
been  her  thought  nakedly  put  in  words.  But  she  only  stood,  her 
restless  head  for  once  quiet,  gravely  looking  down  at  him,  while 
Ross,  who  had  stolen  round,  stooped  across  the  dog,  her  lips  apart, 
tugging  at  his  coat.  He  opened  his  eyes  at  last,  and  got  up  slowly, 
pulled  the  dusty  felt  hat  on  his  head  askew,  and  clasped  his  hands 
Dehind  his  neck,  a  trick  the  boy  had  when  tired. 

"  He'll  never  lick  anybody's  hand  but  ole  Sap's  now,  I  reckon," 
with  a  grin. 

Ross  waited  a  moment,  growing  red  and  pale  by  turns.  When  she 
came  a  step  or  two  closer  to  the  little  mulatto : 

"I  think  that  was  a  very  good  dog,"  she  said,  in  a  weak  little 


14  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

quaver ;  and  then,  after  one  or  two  breathless  gasps,  she  put  out  her 
hand  and  took  the  yellow  fingers  in  hers. 

The  boat  was  moored  by  this  time  with  a  heavy  jerk.  Through 
the  darkness  you  could  hear  the  rumbling  of  the  great  Conestoga 
wagon  going  on  shore,  the  jingling  of  the  bells,  and  Joe's  bass 
voice  shouting  for  Ross. 

"  Well,  good-night,"  she  said,  gently,  and  ran  off,  gladly  enough. 

Sap,  who  had  stood  cringing  as  long  as  she  talked  to  him,  sat 
down  again,  and  put  his  face  on  the  dog's  cold  hide.  He  heard  his 
master  calling,  but  the  sound  came  to  him  dully  through  the  dark 
and  cold.  It  was  dark  and  cold,  that  was  all  he  knew ;  that,  and 
the  weight  of  old  Luff,  who  would  not  creep  close  to  him  to-night 
for  warmth.  He  would  never  waken  to  bark  at  the  moon,  and  then 
snuggle  into  the  straw,  licking  his  hand,  again.  Never  again. 

Presently  a  warm  hand  touched  him.  "  Here,  boy,  I  must  have 
a  word  with  thee,"  said  Ann  Yates. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ECHOES. 

THE  tiny  square  house  among  the  bags  up  by  Joe's  high  seat 
never  was  so  cosy  or  warm  as  now,  when  the  wagon  with  its  ring 
ing  chimes  in  front  plunged  into  the  mysterious  night,  turning  its 
back  on  the  dull  river,  and  the  greasy  lamps  and  dog's  red  blood  and 
trouble  there.  Ross  turned  the  back  of  her  thoughts  on  them,  too. 
She  had  meant  to  cry  a  great  deal  immediately  for  that  dog,  and 
perhaps  stay  awake  all  night.  But  first  she  and  her  grandfather 
had  an  anxious  time  to  find  Brouse,  and  when  they  were  once  started, 
there  were  so  many  subjects  of  interest  lying  over  since  he  went 
out  to  Berks  County  on  Saturday,  that  she  hardly  could  find  words 
fast  enough. 

She  had  not  heard  yet  how  Bet's  lame  foot  was,  or  if  Geoff  had 

got  rid  of  that  cough,  or  how  often  the  Major  had  contrived  to  fall 

.     '  this  trip.     There  certainly  never  were  eight  horses  that  contrived  to 

pick  up  so  many  ailments,  she  was  sure.     Joe's  growl  broke  in 

deprecatingly : 

"  I  dunno.  Sweetheart — about  that.  I  wouldn't  go  so  far  as  that. 
They  be  a  good  lot,  't  seems  to  me.  Seems  as  if  they  wur  old 
friends,  to  me,"  tapping  the  broad  backs  of  the  wheelers. 

"  Oh,  of  course — I  know — I  didn't  mean — "  the  words  tumbling 
out  headlong,  she  not  being  sure  how  much  the  "  old  friends  "  had 
understood,  or  been  hurt.  "  They're  good  stock,  too,  Josh  McNabb 
says.  They're  blooded  horses,  every  one,  he  says." 

"  Blood  don't  weigh  so  much  with  me  as  with  other  folks — blood 
don't,"  said  Joe,  hastily,  a  sharp  twang  in  his  tone.  "  Don't  you 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  15 

ketch  them  notions,  Rossline.  When  you've  got  a  horse,"  medita 
tively,  "  with  a  good  pull  from  each  jint,  and  a  clear  eye,  and  a 
stiddy  gait,  starting  from  the  handles,  it  be  better'n  your  high 
pacers,  full  of  nerves  and  tricks.  As  with  horses,  so  with  men." 

Ross  nodded  emphatically.  Joe~  Burley  fell  into  a  profound 
silence,  chewing  the  cud  of  his  remark.  Once  his  conscience  stung 
him,  apparently.  "  Was  I  rough  with  you,  gal  ?  "  turning  his  broad, 
red  face  on  her  quickly. 

Ross  only  laughed  for  reply,  laying  her  head  in  its  woolen  hood 
on  his  knee,  which  was  broad  and  soft  as  a  feather  pillow.  Joe 
touched  her  shut  eyelids  with  his  stubby  finger,  smoothed  the 
lashes. 

"  So  ?  So  ?  You  and  your  grandad  be  good  chums,  hey,  Sweet 
heart  ?  But  them  notions  about  blood  be  like  pison — to  me." 

Now  and  then,  afterward,  Joe  coughed,  and  mumbled  something 
more  about  "blood."  The  unusual  idea  in  his  brain  was  as  troub 
lesome  as  a  pike  floundering  in  a  muddy  pool ;  it  would  neither  go 
out,  nor  be  quiet.  Ross,  with  a  vague  notion  that  he  was  in  trouble, 
patted  his  knee  with  her  hand,  as  if  she  beat  a  soft  tune.  But  it 
was  a  very  good  place  up  there.  What  with  her  fragrant  baskets 
at  her  feet,  and  Joe's  mountainous  figure  bounding  her  in,  and  the 
supper  she  knew  of  at  home,  she  was  filled  with  a  -general  herby, 
affectionate,  enough-to-eat  perception  of  the  world,  as  warm  and 
relishing  as  was  possible. 

Yet  the  night  yawned  about  them  outride  of  the  wagon,  cold  and 
immeasurable.  There  were  no  stars  overhead ;  no  landmarks  of 
fences  or  houses  ;  they  were  plunging  into  a  gray,  empty  gulf  that 
extended,  very  likely,  clear  to  the  edge  of  the  world  ;  there  was 
nothing  to  define  it  but  the  timed  ringing  of  the  horses'  bells  and 
the  baying  of  a  dog,  far  oif.  Whether  out  of  sympathy  with  his 
master,  or  for  some  other  cause,  Brouse,  under  the  wagon,  barked 
restlessly  again  and  again.  Ross  cuddled  in  closer  to  her  grand 
father  ;  it  was  colder  and  silenter  than  any  night  that  she  remembered. 
And  to  make  the  silence  more  intense,  she  had  a  vague  conscious 
ness  of  stealthy  footsteps  following  them  along  the  road  ;  steadily, 
now  near,  now  further  off.  It  was  but  fancy  ;  when  she  set  her  ears 
to  listen,  the  noise  was  gone,  or  proved  to  be  only  her  grandfather's 
stertorous  breathing. 

Once,  however,  Joe  raised  his  head  from  his  yarn  jacket.  "Did 
you  hear  anything  a  follerin,  Ross  ? "  pulling  up  the  horses,  but 
not  looking  back.  Ross  thought  he  was  afraid  ;  he  did  not  wait  to 
hear  her  answer;  put  his  hand  up  behind  his  ear,  to  listen. 

"  It's  nothin',"  wiih  a  whistle  to  the  horses  of  relief.  "  Once  or 
twice  in  my  life  I've  heard  steps  a  follerin'  of  me,"  he  said  ,in  a  sub 
dued  voice,  when  they  were  rumbling  on  again.  "  Different  ones 
has  different  signs  sent  when  death's  comin',  you  see.  Some  hears 


16  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

a  piping  like  a  whistle  in  a  high  wind,  and  some  hears  a  crack  like  a 
whip-handle  laid  on  heavy  on  the  door-post.  But  I  don't  look  for 
no  warnin'  of  death.  My  fears  don't  lie  that  way ;  I  kin  be  soon 
ready  when  the  Good  Man  sends  word.  I've  done  my  dooty  to  the 
beasts  and  my  customers.  I'll  say  good-by  to  the  little  gal  and —  " 
he  stopped  there  to  pat  Ross'  head. 

Joe  had  painted  this  heroic  exit  of  his  so  often  that  he  rather  en 
joyed  it.  But  it  was  always  new  and  bitter  to  the  child. 

"  Well,  don't  you  fret,  little  Sister.  I'm  rugged  yet,  thank  God. 
But  there  has  been  steps  a  follerin'  me,  more  than  once,"  in  a  whis 
per.  "  It  was  no  living  foot  as  made  them." 

"  Well,  now,  grandad,  death  did  not  come,"  said  Ross,  wetting  her 
dry  lips  with  her  tongue. 

"  No.  Not  death.  Wuss.  Never  you  mind  what  it  was,"  rous 
ing  himself.  "  There's  been  times  when  I  thought  it  would  touch 
you.  But  your  grandfather's  body's  big  enough  to  put  between 
you  and  that." 

The  night  became  less  vague  as  he  spoke,  a  gray,  luminous  line 
defining  the  horizon  where  the  moon  was  rising — buildings,  trees, 
the  old  mill  began  to  loom  out  of  the  space,  yet,  it  was  but  as 
shadows  of  their  real,  daylight  shapes.  The  silence  grew  painful  to 
Ross'  strained  ear ;  then  there  struck  across  it  a  man's  step,  far  off, 
light,  furtive,  coming  nearer — nearer.  It  was  gone  as  suddenly  as  it 
came. 

She  looked  up  into  Joe's  face;  it  was  vacant.  He  had  heard 
nothing. 

"  I  fancied  I  saw  a  thing  to-night  as  brought  old  times  up,"  said 
he,  trying  to  force  back  his  old  cheerfulness.  "  That's  what  set  me 
on  this  graveyard  talk,  and  to  thinking  that  tramp-trampin'  was 
behind  us." 

Ross  said  nothing. 

They  were  beyond  Camden  now,  turning  off  into  the  turnpike 
road,  which  ran  through  patches  of  wood,  and  Jersey  truck  farms. 
The  moon  shone  out  clearly.  The  steps  were  no  longer  hear'1.. 
The  air  grew  wholesome  and  life-like. 

Ross  sat  up  looking  at  the  cobwebs  on  the  fences,  white  anu 
rimy  in  the  moonlight.  When  she  was  young,  she  used  to  believe 
in  iairies,  and  that  they  dressed  themselves  out  of  that  stuff,  some 
how.  She  was  very  sure  there  were  no  such  things  now.  Quite 
sure. 

Down  along  the  sea-coast,  where  her  grandfather  went  in  Winter 
to  buy  furs  and  wild  fowl  for  the  New  York  market,  they  used  to 
tell  her,  in  the  farm-houses,  very  different  stories  from  those. 
About  the  crew  of  a  Spanish  brig,  wrecked  a  hundred  years  ago, 
who  patrolled  the  beach  every  night,  guarding  their  treasure  buried 
in  the  sand.  Sometimes,  in  the  full  of  the  moon,  you  wouM  hear 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  17 

their  knock-knocking,  trying  to  piece  together  the  fragments  of 
their  old  crumbling  wreck,  and  see  their  broad  plumed  hats  and  cloaks 
on  the  shore,  but  when  you  came  near,  the  sounds  died  into  the 
beat  of  the  surf,  and  the  waving  feathers,  and  fluttering  mantles 
seemed  to  be  but  the  foam  and  dash  of  the  incoming  tide.  Now 
that  was  a  story  that  one  could  know  was  true.  And  there  was  a 
tradition  that,  if  any  one  would  bring  a  boat  to  carry  them  away 
from  this  unhappy  country,  and  leave  it  moored  over  night,  in 
the  morning  it  would  be  gone,  and  heaped  on  the  beach  thsre  would 
be  a  king's  ransom  of  jewels.  Now,  that  was  a  good  plan  to  have 
for  the  future.  She  had  begun  several  times  to  save  up  her  money 
lor  that  boat.  She  often  talked  to  her  grandfather  of  the  house 
they  would  build  some  day,  though  she  did  not  enter  into  the  par 
ticulars.  It  would  need  a  good  deal  of  courage  to  go  with  the  boat 
alone.  She  would  tell  him  when  it  was  done. 

"  Hillo !  here  be  home  !  "  shouted  Joe  as  the  wagon  drew  up  in 
front  of  a  house  as  square,  and  short,  and  dumpy,  as  Ross  herself. 
Only  a  month  ago  Joe  had  bought  that  house — but  it  had  a  home 
face  from  the  first  day.  There  was  a  door-step  that  children's  feet 
had  worn,  and  beehives  and  old  apple  trees  in  the  garden,  and 
wrens  in  the  eaves,  and  crickets  in  the  broad,  stone  hearth,  and  a 
gray,  sleepy  cat  who  came  in  and  lay  down  before  the  kitchen  fire 
as  soon  as  it  was  lighted.  A  difference  between  this  and  boarding- 
house  in  city  alleys  !  A  house,  and  stable,  and  beehives,  and 
lilacs,  and  hollyhocks  like  these,  had  a  flavor  of  home  to  old  Joe 
and  the  girl  which  they  could  never  have  to  people  who  had  not 
roosted  over  corner  groceries,  and  looked  out  on  vacant  lots  heaped 
with  ashes  and  potato  peelings,  through  hot  Summer  days. 

Brouse  had  all  the  lazy,  lif'e-is-long  air  of  a  thoroughbred  coun 
try  dog  already ;  and  Geoff,  and  the  Major,  and  the  very  old  Con- 
estoga  itself,  knew  home,  and,  Ross  thought,  really  believed  they 
had  always  lived  there.  The  barking,  and  creaking,  and  neighing, 
when  they  stopped  at  the  gate,  quite  broke  up  the  stillness  of  the 
whole  night,  while  Ross'  laugh  and  Joe's  subdued  bellow,  formed 
the  ground  and  top  of  the  confusion. 

She  danced  an  impatient  little  jig  on  the  foot-board  of  the  wagon 
in  her  hurry  to  be  taken  down.  She  had  no  time  to  waste,  she  could 
tell  them.  There  was  the  fire  to  stir  up  and  the  supper  to  get,  and 
no  makeshift  of  a  supper,  either.  She  ran  up  the  path,  pulling  off 
her  mittens,  stopping  to  break  off  some  boughs  and  leaves  from 
bushes  near  the  door;  stopping,  too,  a  minute  to  think  this  was  her 
ground  and  her  grandfather's,  with  as  keen  a  sense  of  ownership  as 
any  king's  in  the  great  Babylon  which  he  had  built.  She  sunk  the 
soles  of  her  shoes  into  the  tan-bark  walk,  thinking  it  was  theirs; 
(  down  to  the  very  centre  of  the  world  theirs.  Ross  was  a'hrays  sure 
of  standing  on  her  own  ground,  and  felt  her  feet  firm  under  her, 
2 


18  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

though  she  was  but  nine  years  old ;  which  gave  her  that  gracious, 
hospitable  manner  toward  other  people,  so  curious  in  her. 

It  was  an  hour  before  Burley  had  fed  and  stowed  away  his  horses 
for  the  night,  and  had  washed  himself,  and  combed  his  thin,  gray 
hair  into  two  flat  quirls  on  either  side  of  his  sun-baked  face.  Then 
he  took  off  his  leather  leggins,  whisked  clean  his  trousers,  and  muddy 
shoes.  He  was  dressing,  as  usual,  for  supper — part  of  his  vague  sys 
tem  of  lifting  the  little  girl  up  out  from  his  own  level,  to — he  scarcely 
knew  where.  Coming  up  on  the  porch,  he  stepped  softly,  and  peeped 
in  the  window.  If  any  evil  steps  had  followed  him,  or  if  any  re 
lentless  eyes  watched  him  through  the  night,  the  sight  pf  his  face, 
set  broad  and  glowing  in  the  square  patch  of  red  light  thrown  out 
by  the  window,  might  have  turned  them  aside.  For,  broad  as  it  was, 
and  unshapely,  a  mass  of  flabby,  fat  wrinkles,  the  dullest  eyes  might 
have  found  in  it  something  akin  to  all  that  was  delicate  and  tender 
in  the  little  child  within.  If  little  Sweetheart  was  oddly  clean  and 
whimsical  in  her  tricks  of  movement  about  her  work,  or  if  she 
threw  her  whole  strength  into  it,  it  was  from  Sweetheart's  grand 
father  the  traits  came  to  her ;  that  was  plain. 

While  he  stood  looking  in,  no  sound  apparently  reached  him  other 
than  the  crackling  of  the  wood  fire  inside,  or  the  sputtering  of  Ross' 
cookery;  but  suddenly  he  straightened  himself,  and  again  put  his 
hand  behind  his  ear.  Light,  stealthy  steps  came  up  the  moonlit 
road,  and,  as  Burley  crept  cautiously  toward  the  gate,  the  shadow  of 
a  man  passing  fell  on  it,  and  disappeared  in  the  dark  lane  made  by 
the  undergrowth  along  the  fence. 

Burley  followed  him.  When  he  came  back,  he  went  directly  into 
the  house,  the  dull  vacancy  gone  from  his  face  with  which  he  had 
talked  to  Ross  of  the  supernatural  terrors. 

"  Hillo,  little  un  ! "  he  said,  cheerfully,  and  sat  down  with  a  hand 
on  each  knee,  to  watch  her  cookery ;  but  a  something  in  the  cool,  gray 
eyes,  and  heavy,  stern  jaws,  which  she  had  never  seen  before,  made 
Ross  turn  once  and  again  to  look  at  him.  He  was  as  grave,  she 
thought,  as  when  he  spelled  out  their  chapter  in  the  Bible  at  night. 
But  the  truth  was,  the  thing  he  had  feared  had  come  upon  him  at  last ; 
the  danger  was  imminent,  the  hope  of  escape  small.  Burley  meant 
to  fight  it  out  like  a  man ;  but  not  then  nor  there.  He  barred  the 
windows,  shut  tight  the  door ;  at  least  she  should  know  nothing 
until  he  was  safe  or  defeated. 

Meanwhile  Ross  dished  the  supper,  setting  and  resetting  the  blue 
delft  plates  on  the  table  with  her  burned  little  hands.  She  had  a 
keen  palate  for  good  cookery,  being  a  healthy,  quick-nerved  little 
body.  Her  dishes  were  always  seasoned  and  done  to  a  turn.  There 
was  a  heap  of  fried  chicken,  each  piece  a  golden  brown ;  there  was 
a  yellow  mound  of  potatoes ;  there  were  creamy  turnips,  and  in  the 
middle,  silvery  stalks  of  celery  in  a  tray,  bedded  in  red  and  bronze 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  19 

beet  leaves,  and  the  rich,  curled,  crisp  fringes  of  green  parsley.     Joe 
laughed  at  this  last. 

"  Your  mother  was  full  of  such  notions,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  a 
chair  to  the  table ;  "  you  favor  her  in  all  your  little  whims,  Sweet 
heart.  Sech  as  your  fancy  for  wearirig  dark  blue  gowns  and  hanging 
bits  of  moss  and  flowers  in  your  hair." 

The  words  seemed  to  give  him  a  hint,  which  he  caught  eagerly ; 
during  the  supper  he  found  a  thousand  ways  to  bring  up  the  same 
theme — "  your  mother ; "  choking  back  whatever  effort  it  cost  him. 
Ross  had  heard  her  name  but  seldom  before. 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  born.  I'm  an  orphan,"  with  a 
grave  little  nod,  saying  what  she  had  learned  by  rote,  years  ago, 
going  on  eating  composedly. 

Burley  sat  smoking  by  the  fire  when  their  supper  was  over,  until 
the  dishes  were  cleared  away,  and  Ross  came  up  for  her  seat  on  his 
knee ;  then  he  put  the  pipe  up  on  the  clock,  and  lifted  her  up, 
smoothing  her  yellow  hair  back. 

"It  be  arly,  little  sister.  You  needn't  go  to  bed  for  an  hour. 
Marget — your  mother — was  a  main  hand  for  sittin'  late  when  she 
was  young,  as  when  she  was  older,  and  my  old  woman  give  her 
her  own  rein — her  own  rein ;  too  much,  maybe.  She  wur  sech  a  purty 
creetur,  she  was  so  dear  to  us,  that  we  liked  her  in  sight,  that's  the 
truth.  So  ther  she'd  sit  at  nights,  as  it  might  be  here,  and  yander 
ud  be  Robert  Comly." 

"My  father,"  said  the  little  girl,  parrot-like,  with  another  nod. 
"  He's  dead.  I  am  an  orphan,"  taking  a  string  of  blue  beads  out  of 
her  pocket,  and  holding  them  up  in  the  firelight. 

Burley  patted  her  hand  in  his.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  with  an 
unnatural  voice,  like  an  unwilling  witness  forced  before  the  jury. 
"  Robert — Comly.  There  was  no  better  carpenters  than  the  Com- 
lys,  father  and  son,  in  Kensington.  Bob  was  a  thorough-through 
boy  from  the  start.  Fond  of  his  joke,  but  true  as  steel  twice  het. 
After  old  Comly  died,  Bob  he  sort  o'  turned  to  me  fur  advice  and 
the  like.  But  it  was  his  likin'  for  Marget  was  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
I  knowed." 

"  So  then  she  married  him  ?  "  said  Ross,  looking  up  from  her 
beads.  When  she  saw  her  grandfather's  face,  her  eyes  did  not 
leave  it  again.  He  turned  away,  looking  in  the  fire,  his  hand  mov 
ing  restlessly  over  his  stubbly  whiskers  and  hiding  his  mouth. 
Ross  threw  her  beads  on  a  chair,  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  We'll  talk  of  something  else,"  she  said,  decisively.  "This isn't 
pleasant  talk  for  you,  grandad." 

"  Ther's  nothin'  onpleasant  to  remember  about  Robert  Comly,' 
shaking  off  her  light  touch,  doggedly.  "  He  got  to  be  like  my  own 
son — that  lad.  You  see  we  never  had  a  son,  and  when  Marget 
come,  late  in  the  day  like,  it  was  a  disappointment — to  me.  I 


20  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

wanted  a  boy.  But  I  was  mighty  fond  of  Bob  ;  he  was  a  steddy 
fellar.  Now,  Marget  was  a  peart  little  thing — she  never  liked 
advice  from  the  day  she  went  into  short  clothes.  But  when  she 
growed  up  sech  a  purty  creetur,  and  our  hearts  was  so  knif  vp  in 
her,  mother  she  says,  'Let  Marget  marry  Bob  Comly,'  say*,  she, 
*  and  then,  Joe,  you'll  have  son  and  da'ater,  too.  You  kin  have  'em 
both,'  she  says." 

"  Then  they  were  married,"  said  Ross,  gently.  "  I  know  the  rest 
of  it,"  her  anxious  scrutiny  never  relaxed  from  his  face.  "  Now 
the  story  is  done,  grandad,  will  you  put  coals  on  the  fire  ?  It  is 
cold." 

But  Burley  prosed  on.  "  That's  the  very  hick'ry  cheer  he  used 
to  sit  in  at  nights  that  Winter.  He  made  this  one  covered  with 
8heep-skin  for  me — Bob  did.  I  never  knowed  a  steddier  fellar  than 
Bob  Comly.  There  never  was  a  man  used  me  fairer.  Ef  I  ever 
meet  him  in  the  country  where  he's  gone  I'll  not  forget  it  to  him. 
But  it  seems  to  me,  to-night,  ther's  a  poor  look  out  for  that !  "  with 
a  sharp, -hard  laugh,  after  a  pause.  He  cut  a  big  plug  of  tobacco 
and  thrust  it  in  his  mouth,  then  clasped  his  hands  over  his  head,  his 
jaws  working,  his  uneasy  eye  avoiding  hers.  "Mother  and  Bob 
are  safe  enough  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  your  hymes  sing 
about,  Rossline.  But  as  things  is  turnin'  out,  Joe  Burley  ain't  the 
sort  that  goes  that  road.  Well,  no  matter  !" 

Ross  put  her  frightened  little  hands  about  his  neck. 

"  Shall  I  sing  for  you  now,  grandad  ?  " 

"  No.  For  God's  sake,  let  me  be,  Rossline,  I've  hard  lines  before 
me  to-night.  Let  me  work  it  out  my  own  fashion.  Talking  of  Bob 
Comly  and  the  way  he  took,  '11  be  more  help  to  me  than  all  the 
hymes  in  the  book." 

The  fire  burned  low ;  Ross  slid  down  and  replenished  it  unnoticed ; 
she  crept  back  between  his  knees,  looking  up  at  him.  She  would 
be  a  woman  some  day,  and,  after  the  habit  of  women,  could  not 
leave  any  one  with  their  trouble  in  quiet,  but  must  peer  curiously 
into  it,  to  cry  over  it  afterward,  and  fill  her  own  heart  with  aching 
and  pity.  Burley  stared  stolidly  in  the  fire  ;  some  hard,  ugly  lines 
which  had  marked  his  face  when  he  was  a  boy  and  counted  a 
'  black  sheep,"  came  out  slowly  on  it  to-night ;  a  scar  that  dragged 
one  eyelid  down  grew  red  and  sinister ;  older  and  more  analytic 
eyes  than  little  Ross'  might  have  fancied  that  the  man,  as  well  as 
the  features  that  indexed  the  man,  were  sinking  back  into  some  old 
mould  which  they  had  nearly  outgrown. 

But  the  little  girl  only  gathered  a  vague  notion  of  the  best  way 
to  soothe  him.  "So  Robert  Comly  and  Marget  were  married?" 
she  said,  using  his  words. 

"  Yes ;  they  wur  married." 

"  And  my  mother  died  the  day  after  I  was  born  ?  My  pretty 
mother  !  Am  I  as  pretty  as  Marget  ?  " 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  21 

Burley  smiled  at  the  grave  little  face.  "  No,  Sweetheart,  you 
kent  be  that.  You  favor  the  Burleys.  You've  got  her  eyes  and 
hair,  but  you're  stouter  built,  tougher  grain.  It's  no  loss — its — " 
he  was  suddenly  silent. 

"  The  day  after  I  was  born  ?  "  the  little  girl's  eyes  grew  heavy 
under  the  strait  lashes.  "  Did  she  look  at  me  ?  Did  she  take  any 
notice  of  me,  or  kiss  me  ?  Where  did  she  kiss  me  ? "  lifting  her 
hand  to  her  face,  uncertainly. 

"  She  give  you  into  my  arms,"  said  Joe,  slowly.  "  She  kissed 
you  all  over  your  wee  face  a  hundred  times,  I  reckon ;  then  she  give 
you  into  my  arms.  I  hadn't  teched  you  before.  Me  and  Robert 
Comly  wur  alone  with  her  that  day.  Mother  was  dead  long  afore. 
I'm  glad  whenever  I  think  of  her  being  gone  afore  that  day.  I 
reckon,  maybe,  she  never  knowed  yonder  of  what  had  happened  /t* ..^i 
down  here — the  Good  Man  is  merciful." 

"  Well — she  gave  me  into  your  arms,"  prompted  Rosslyn. 

Joe  choked  a  heavy  breath  that  shook  his  solid  chest,  beginning 
to  chew  violently.  "  Yes,  she  did,  Rossline.  All  she'd  said  that 
day  was  '  my  little,  little  baby,'  huggin'  and  cryin'  it  over  you,  with 
the  breath  goin'  fast  from  her.  I  didn't  know  it  wur  goin' ;  or  I 
couldn't  have  left  her  alone.  But  I  would  neither  look  at  her  nor 
tech  her."  He  put  Rosslyn  off  from  him  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  his  elbows  propped  on  his  knees. 

"  I  often  think  how  we  left  her  alone.  Neither  father  nor  hus 
band  nor  God,  agoin'  through  that  dark  vally.  You  was  all  she 
had,  she  knowed  that.  She  clung  to  you  to  the  last.  Then  she  give 
you  into  my  arms.  '  It's  my  poor  little  baby,  father,'  she  said.  I 
tuk  you  from  her.  I  couldn't  help  but  do  that." 

He  got  up  and  walked  irresolutely  across  the  floor. 

"But  I  left  her.  alone  agin.  I  laid  the  baby  down  and  stood  by 
the  chimbley-side,  with  my  back  to  the  bed." 

He  stopped,  leaning  heavily  on  the  mantle-shelf,  the  scar  and 
blotches  looking  purple  on  his  pale  face.  "  That  was  Marget — the 
purty  creeter — as  had  been  my  only  child ;  I  turned  my  back  to  her." 

Ross  stood  facing  him  with  bewildered  eyes.  "  But  my  father — 
Robert  Comly?" 

The  old  man  stopped.  "  No  man  could  have  acted  fairer  than 
Bob  Comly.  I  said  that.  He  wur  very  kind.  We  wur  down  in 
Bucks  county  then ;  when  we  come  up  to  town,  he  bided  with  me, 
and  kept  his  own  counsel.  He  knowed  as  it  wur  none  of  my  fault. 
He  give  you  yer  name,  Rossline  Comly.  It  was  for  my  sake  he 
did  it." 

"  He  died  the  next  year,"  said  Ross,  repeating  her  long  learned 
lesson.  "  That  was  how  I  came  to  be  an  orphan." 

Burley  held  up  his  hand,  sharply,  to  listen.  Ross  fancied  she 
heard  a  man's  approaching  steps  without,  slow  and  light. 


22  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"It  be  late,  little  gal,"  said  her  grandfather,  hurriedly.  "It's 
been  a  messable  evening,  that's  true.  Yer  eyes  are  sunk  in  yer 
head.  You  be  off  to  bed,  Sweetheart." 

He  watched  her  anxiously  as  she  made  ready.  "  Don't  you  mind, 
Rossline,  if  you  hear  a  noise  of  talking  down  below  ;  I've  got  into 
that  way  lately  when  I'm  vexed  in  my  mind."  When  she  came  to 
bid  him  good-night,  he  swung  her  up  in  his  arms,  with  one  of 
his  broad,  hearty  smiles  breaking  out  over  his  red  face. 

"  You're  a  lucky-looking  child,  Rossline,"  turning  up  her  face  by  the 
chin.  "  I  reckon  the  Good  Man  has  a  keer  of  you.  Seein'  you  makes 
me  think  I'll  get  through  this  bout  safely,"  and  kissed  her  lightly  on 
the  mouth  as  he  put  her  down.  He  watched  her  going  up  the 
crooked  stairs,  and  listened,  half  smiling,  to  her  firm  little  tread 
overhead — listened  after  he  had  taken  up  his  place  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  and  waited  for  the  other  steps  that  had  brought  worse  than 
death  to  his  threshold  years  ago,  and  that,  each  moment  came  closer 
without. 

Yet  Burley's  superstitious  terror  seemed  fantastic  enough,  for 
when  the  footsteps  were  followed  by  a  knock,  and  the  entrance  of  a 
man,  it  was  only  the  subdued-looking,  sandy-haired  gentleman  off 
of  the  ferry-boat,  who  stood  smiling  pleasantly  before  him. 

"  I  knew  you  were  within,  Burley  " — holding  out  his  hand — "  so 
I  came  in  without  a  bidding." 

"  It  wurn't  likely,  James  Strebling,  as  I  should  call  you  inside 
of  my  door  agin." 

The  other  man  colored  and  giggled  feebly,  rubbing  his  hands  to 
gether  as  if  reminded  of  an  awkward  mistake.  "  Now,  Burley,  you 
do  not  keep  a  grudge  for  old  debts,  eh,  hey?  I  came  here  from 
Alabama  purposely  to  talk  matters  over  with  you,  one  man  of  sense 
with  another.  I  thought,  I'm  one  practical  fellow,  and  Burley  is 
another,  and  there'll  be  no  trouble  in  adjusting  those  old  affairs. 
But,  God  bless  me !  how  you've  altered ! "  finding  his  way  to  a 
chair,  and  peering  through  his  spectacles  with  an  attempt  at  easy 
carelessness. 

The  old  wagoner  remained  standing  immovable  before  the  fire ; 
he  had  not  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  floor  since  Strebling  entered. 

"  Yes,  I  be  altered.  For  two  years  after  you'd  done  your  work 
and  left  here,  I  hunted  you  through  them  Southern  States  like  a 
weasel  in  its  hole.  I'd  but  one  thing  to  do  in  life — to  put  the  muzzle 
of  my  pistol  up  to  your  cowardly  brain.  Now — I  hid  from  you  to 
night.  I'd  give  my  right  arm  if  you  and  me  had  not  crossed  paths 
agin  !  yes,  I  would." 

•  Strebling  was  not  a  coward ;  besides,  when  men  are  cool  enough 
to  talk  about  murder,  the  danger  is  over ;  but  he  was  shocked  more 
than  he  liked  to  own.  Burley  looked  like  one  of  his  own  oxen 
standing  there;  yet  it  occurred  to  the  gentleman  for  the  first  time 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  23 

to  question  how  much  hurt  that  old  peccadillo  of  his  had  done  to 
the  fellow ;  just  as  he  might  have  done  if  he  had  struck  an  ox  with 
his  rattan.  Then  he  caught  what  Burley  was  saying  in  a  hard,  quiet 
voice,  curiously  divested  of  all  oaths  or  roughness. 

"  You  p'isoned  my  life  for  me  once.  I  was  jest  beginning  to  take 
some  pleasure  in  it  when  you  come  agin.  I've  been  tryin'  to  make 
myself  fit  to  raise  the  gal :  she's  got  no  father  or  mother  beyont  me. 
Ther'  has  been  times  when  the  world  was  so  friendly  about  me  that 
I  tried  to  make  excuses  for  even  you,  James  Strebling.  But  now, 
as  you've  thrust  yerself  in  my  way — " 

He  lifted  his  face,  turning  the  small  eyes,  bloodshot  and  red,  on 
him  for  the  first  time. 

Strebling  sprang  up,  threw  down  his  hat  and  cane,  and  coming 
straight  up  to  the  old  man,  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"  Look  here !  I'm  not  a  bad  man,  Burley.  That  was  a  damnably 
shabby  trick  of  mine.  I  know  that.  But  before  God  I  meant  to 
come  back  and  marry  Margaret.  I  never  intended  that  she  should 
be  foisted  on  another  man.  Come  " — after  a  pause — "  you  sowed 
wild  oats  yourself  once.  You  know  a  man  does  not  count  on  the 
harvest,  when —  He  drew  back  a  step  suddenly,  and  stood  on 
guard,  watching  Burley  as  he  would  a  beast  about  to  spring  at  his 
throat. 

"  Besides,"  cautiously,  when  the  old  man  shifted  his  position,  "  let 
us  have  peace  between  us  for  the  girl's  sake." 

"What  is  Rossline  to  you?  It's  late  in  the  day;  Rossline  is 
Marget's  da'ater.  Ther's  not  a  drop  of  her  father's  blood  in  her 
body." 

"  Now,  Burley,  you  are  very  intemperate.  It  has  not  been  my 
fault  that  I  have  not  claimed  the  child  sooner  'in  the  day,'  as  you  put 
it.  Whatever  James  Strebling's  faults  may  be,  no  one  can  accuse 
him  of  being  a  harsh  father.  And  this  child  should  have  been  taken 
home  long  ago,  and  as  tenderly  cared  for  as  Rob,  if  my  wife  had 
not  been  living.  She's  dead  now." 

Burley  turned  his  ox-like  face,  baffled  and  alarmed.  It  was 
some  time  before  the  fear  found  its  way  from  his  muddled  brain  into 
words. 

"  You  be  the  child's  father,  an'  that  gives  you  some  hold  on  her 
by  law,  may  be.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  believe  that  it  do.  Ther's 
a  lot  of  common  sense  in  them  hard  law-words  in  general.  You've 
been  only  a  curse  an'  misfortin  to  Rossline  since  before  she  was 
born,  an'  I  laid  myself  out  to  sarve  her  since  I  took  her  in  my  arms 
a  grooling  baby.  If  she's  wanted  anything  it's  been  because  Joe 
Burley 's  wit  and  strength  giv'  out  in  getting  it  for  her.  What  do 
you  want  of  her  ?  You've  got  your  friends  and  your  son,  and  nig 
gers  and  land ;  but  that  little  gal's  the  only  thing  on  'arth  that's 
worth  thrippence  to  me.  I've  out-growed  all  the  rest.  Mother's 


24  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

dead  and  Marget — all  of  them,  only  that  yellow-haired  little  'un 
that  keeps  a  growin'  into  me,  day  by  day,  like  a  part  of  myself. 
No,  I  don't  believe  any  law  'ill  give  her  to  you.  I'll  see  to-morrow." 

Strebling  observed  him  warily  a  moment,  then  with  a  sudden 
ingenuous  air,  exclaimed,  "  You're  wrong,  Burley — all  wrong  ;  the 
law  gives  me  no  claim  on  her.  It  is  the  child's  good  you  should 
look  at.  I  came  here  for  her ;  I'm  free  to  say  that  plainly.  I'll 
not  marry  again,  and  I'd  like  a  daughter  about  me  in  my  old  age. 
Bob  is  independent  of  me,  from  his  grandfather.  I  can  afford  to 
give  her  a  child's  portion,  and  I'll  do  it.  I  will  take  her  as  the 
orphan  child  of  a  friend,  so  that  no  shame  shall  come  on  her.  I 
would  make  her  an  educated,  tenderly-reared  lady — and  you — " 

"What  then,  sir?" 

"  You  are  making  a  market-huckster  out  of  her." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Overhead,  in  the  loft- 
chamber,  where  the  moon  threw  a  square  light  on  the  bare  floor,  the 
little  girl  sat  shivering  in  her  night-gown  on  the  edge  of  her  cot- 
bed,  her  yellow  hair  tucked  closely  up,  her  hands  clasped  about  her 
knees.  The  voices  below  reached  her  now  and  then;  these  last 
words  clearly ;  when  she  heard  them  the  little  freckled  face  con 
tracted  sharply,  certain  lines  which  Burley  had  never  seen,  came 
into  it ;  she  bent  her  head  to  listen. 

Her  grandfather  was  silent. 

"  It  is  the  child  you  should  consider,"  persisted  Strebling.  "  Not 
vour  owrn  selfish  pleasure.  It  is  her  wThole  life  you  are  choosing  for 
her." 

Still  no  answer.  Ross  could  hear  the  clock  ticking  below,  seem 
ing  to  make  a  thickened  beat  through  the  floor,  the  plastering,  in 
her  own  head ;  but  her  grandfather  said  nothing.  She  slid  down, 
put  her  brown  cloak  about  her,  walked  to  the  stairs.  Then  Burley's 
voice,  slow  and  stammering,  came  up. 

"  That  be  a  cruel  way  to  put  it.  But  it  be  true.  You're  a 
gentleman,  as  words  go.  You've  the  '  blood '  Rossline  talked  of— this 
very  night.  Do  what  I  kin,  Rossline  '11  grow  up  like  her  mother's 
people.  A  market-huckster,  may-be.  How  kin  I  know  ? "  He 
coughed,  cleared  his  throat,  his  voice  swelling  out  to  suit  the  burly 
figure  out  of  which  it  came,  not  without  a  certain  coarse  dignity  in 
it,  beside  which  Strebling's,  with  its  delicate  training,  sounded  thin 
and  flat.  "  But,  huckster  or  not,  the  gal's  face  is  honest,  an'  the 
Burley  blood's  clean.  I'll  keep  it  so.  I've  got  to  answer  to  God 
for  her  some  day.  I'll  not  give  her  to  you.  I'll  not  put  her  where 
she'll  grow  tainted  an'  cunnin'  for  all  the  money  or  edication  that 
'ud  make  her  a  lady." 

The  child's  face  bending  over  the  dark  stairway  grew  more  sharp 
and  set,  her  nails  whitened  where  she  clenched  the  railing  with  her 
fingers. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  25 

"  There  is  no  need  of  heat  in  the  matter,"  said  Strebling,  with  an 
unnatural  mildness  in  his  tone.  "  I  think  I  have  acted  fairly.  I 
can  have  no  especial  love  for  a  child  that  I  have  seen  but  once,  but 
I  came  here  to  do  what  I  thought  right,  and  your  bluster  or  insult 
will  not  put  me  aside.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  decide  the  child' 
fate,  Burley,  without  giving  her  a  chance  to  know  what  she  will 
lose." 

"  You  want  to  leave  it  to  Rossline  ?  "  with  a  chuckle.  "  Well, 
she  don't  have  a  thought  beyond  her  grandad.  I'm  contented. 
You  kin  do  that." 

"  You  will  find  yourself  mistaken  in  her,  then,"  sharply.  "  I  noted 
her  to-day.  There  are  thoroughbred  points  in  her.  She  will  turn 
to  the  ease  and  delicacy  of  life  as  instinctively  as  a  well-blooded  ani 
mal  would  forsake  offal  for  its  natural  food.  I  will  come  back  in 
the  morning." 

"  Jest  as  you  please ;  I'll  be  contented  to  leave  it  to  my  little 
gal." 

But  there  was  an  uneasy  hesitation  in  his  voice  which  had  not 
been  there  before. 

"  I  will  leave  this  for  her.  Give  it  to  her  when  she  wakens," 
taking  out  the  watch  which  he  had  bought  for  Rob,  and  laying  it  on 
the  table.  As  he  turned  away,  a  quick  step  rattled  on  the  stair 
steps,  and  a  square  little  figure,  wrapped  in  a  stuff  cloak  that  did  not 
hide  her  bare  ankles,  stood  beside  him.  She  took  up  the  watch  and 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"  I  heard  that  talking.  I  choose  for  myself.  I  want  you  never 
to  come  back  here  again."  She  spoke  in  a  whisper,  but  her  face 
and  motions  were  so  angular  and,  sharp,  that  the  voice  seemed  wiry. 
Strebling  stood,  half  smiling  with  amusement,  and  a  certain  relief. 
He  was  beginning  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  adopting  this  pullet  of 
the  Burley  breed,  after  all.  But  he  pushed  back  the  watch. 

"  Whatever  you  decide,  keep  that,  my  dear." 

Now,  the  chain  was  enamelled  with  blue,  and  there  was  a  topaz 
and  a  lava  seal.  It  must  have  been  such  jewels  as  these  which  the 
crew  of  the  Spanish  galleon  had  buried.  She  drew  a  heavy  sigh 
and  hesitated.  "  No,  I  don't  think  I  will  keep  it,  thank  you.  I  am 
going  to  choose  for  myself.  I  will  not  go  to  be  made  vile  and 
tainted.  You  are  nothing  to  me.  I  understand — I  am  not  like 
other  children.  I — I  have  nobody  but  you  !  " — turning  to  Burley, 
catching  his  arm,  and  beginning  to  cry  in  a  shrill,  tearless  way. 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Strebling,  quickly.  "  I've  done  my  duty.  But, 
Burley,  this  child  is  but  a  child  ;  she's  not  fit  to  judge.  If  she  ever 
needs  my  help,  write  to  me.  I'll  not  keep  any  grudge  about  to-day. 
It  is  not  likely  that  I  will  renew  my  offer ;  but  I  will  be  willing  to 
help  her,  certainly — quite  willing." 

He  went  hastily  out  of  the  door,  Burley  staring  after  his  thin, 


26  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

padded.figure  as  he  picked  Ms  steps  along  the  path  outside  with  an 
uneasy  sense  of  defeat,  he  scarce  knew  why,  forgetting  that  the  door 
was  open,  and  that  Ross'  feet  were  bare  on  the  stone  floor.  She  knew 
it,  and  cried  a  little  more  bitterly  for  it,  feeling  quite  neglected  and 
alone.  He  thought  she  had  no  idea  of  the  crisis  in  her  life  which 
she  had  just  passed ;  but  a  girl  of  nine  years  has  keen  and  horribly 
real  perceptions  of  the  few  edges  of  the  outer  world  which  touch 
her ;  the  sharper,  maybe,  because  all  beyond  is  as  misty  and  unreal 
as  eternity.  Then  the  love,  and  hate,  and  pain  of  youth  have 
always  in  them  a  weak,  acrid,  insipid  flavor,  like  the  juices  of  all 
unripe  fruit ;  the  child,  clinging  to  his  knees,  had  none  of  the 
quiet,  full  consciousness  of  having  chosen  the  right  thing  that  slowly 
filled  and  quieted  Burley's  brain. 

"  It  be  monstrous  cold,"  he  stammered,  at  last,  with  a  sort  of 
heave  and  gulp,  shaking  himself,  and  then  lumbering  across  the 
kitchen  to  close  the  door.  He  fumbled  at  the  lock  when  it  was 
shut,  looking  doubtfully  at  the  forlorn  little  figure  on  the  hearth  in 
front  of  the  low-burning  fire,  with  her  hands  clasped  behind  her 
back,  and  her  face  following  him  steadily. 

"  Yer  eyes  is  sunk  into  yer  head  like  a  sleep-walker's,  little  gal," 
coming  up,  and  putting  his  hands  on  her  head.  "  It's  been  a  messa- 
bul  night,  as  I  said  afore.  It's  goin'  to  be  the  last  of  that  sort, 
hey  ?  Why,  Rossline !  Tut !  tut !  yer  skin's  cold  and  dry  as  death  ! 
Why,  Sweetheart !  " 

She  cried  out,  at  that,  that  she  understood — that  she  was  not 
like  other  children  ;  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  them  all  if 
she  had  died  on  the  bed  that  day  with  her  pretty  mother,  hugging 
nis  knee  meantime,  and  burying  her  face  in  his  patched  trousers. 

"  Why,  Rossline  !  "  picking  her  up  with  a  hoarse,  unsteady  laugh. 
"  What  a  silly  little  un  my  gal  is  to  forget  her  grandad  altogether ! 
She  puts  him  clear  out  of  account !  Yer  feet  is  like  ice  ;  here,  give 
me  this  un  in  my  hand.  She  forgets  her  old  grandad  !  She  don't 
take  no  count  of  the  old  man  that  has  got  nothin'  but  her  in  the 
world.  Nothin'.  If  you  were  dead  with  Marget,  what  ud  I  be  ? 
hey,  little  sister  ?  Jest  a  empty  husk  with  the  kernel  gone,  a  moul- 
derin'  away.  That's  it.  A — moulderin' — away.  You  don't  know 
how  yer  the  life  of  me,  Rossline,"  gravely  holding  her  in  his  arms 
as  if  she  were  a  baby,  and  rocking  her.  She  had  sobbed  herself 
quiet  now. 

"  Ye'r  the  first  one  since  Robert  Comly  died —  "  he  began  again, 
when  she  lifted  up  her  head,  her  eyes  on  fire,  bidding  him  never 
talk  of  Robert  Comly  to  her  again ;  that  he  was  nothing  to  her ; 
that  she  loved  her  mother,  whatever  the  others  did — her  pretty 
mother — with  another  burst  of  sobbing  and  tears.  She  hated  Rob 
ert  Comly  and  his  goodness ;  at  which  the  old  man  only  smiled 
gravely,  and  rocked  her  in  silence  till  she  fell  asleep. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  27 

The  sky  the  next  morning  was  filled  with  that  thin,  "brilliant  sun 
shine  that  belongs  to  the  early  Winter  days ;  the  air  cold  and  ex 
hilarating  as  iced  wine.  Ross  went  gravely  about,  watching  her 
grandfather  fodder  the  horses  and  mend  the  harness  ;  she  was  quite 
idle  herself;  her  little  body  was 'nervous  and  trembling  like  an 
instrument  too  tightly  strung  ;  she  wanted  to  cry  on  his  neck ;  to 
tell  him  how  her  heart  was  full  of  love  for  the  old  man  who  had 
nothing  but  her  in  the  world — now  that  she  was  unlike  all  other 
children,  and  stood  quite  alone  with  not  even  a  dead  father  or 
mother  of  whom  she  might  be  proud,  and  love.  But  Burley  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  last  night  altogether ;  he  swore  in  his  good- 
humored  way  as  usual  at  the  beasts,  and  whistled  the  "  British 
Grenadiers,"  between  times ;  his  jolly  face  red  and  perspiring  as 
always. 

She  had  a  vague,  half-unconscious  feeling  that  there  would  be  a 
great  change  in  her  life,  after  this  crisis  was  past.  But  the  break 
fast  waited  for  her  to  cook — and  then,  the  dishes  for  her  to  wash  ; 
and  presently  her  grandfather  looked  in  to  say,  was  she  ready  ?  and 
that  he  could  take  her  into  town  if  her  baskets  were  packed ;  and 
when  her  hood  was  on,  he  hoisted  her  up  among  her  heaps  of  sage 
and  sweet  marjoram,  and  drove  her  as  usual  into  her  stall  in  the 
market. 

It  was  a  frosty,  cheerful  morning,  and  he  kept  up  a  hearty  joking 
with  everybody  they  met,  and  with  Ross  herself,  and  she  answered 
him  in  kind. 

But  she  began  to  remember  what  splendor  of  fairy-like  good  for 
tune  had  come  near  her  last  night,  and  been  turned  away.  It  was 
just  as  if  she  had  seen  and  touched  the  cavaliers  with  their  floating 
plumes  and  golden  spurs,  and  that  now  they  were  gone,,  and  nothing 
was  left  but  the  muddy  beach  and  incoming  tide. 

They  reached  the  market  at  last,  and  she  mounted  her  high  stool. 
There  it  all  was;  the  low,  dirty-blue  roof  overhead;  the  brick  pil 
lars  pasted  with  bills ;  the  tiresome,  muddy  street,  with  the  old 
wagon  carrying  off  its  pleasant  music ;  there  was  the  crowd  of  un 
tidy  women  in  front  of  her  with  their  baskets ;  Scheffer  haggling 
with  one  of  them  over  a  bone  of  meat  on  one  side,  and  Kit  Vance, 
slimy  and  red-faced,  diving  into  her  filthy  mackerel  hogsheads,  on 
the  other.  Kit  was  a  "market-huckster;"  Kit  was  "honest  and 
clean-blooded."  Her  grandfather  meant  her  for — this.  This  market 
and  that  woman — there  she  could  see  herself,  twenty  years  from 
now.  He  was  very  fond  and  kind,  but  she  knew  he  would  never 
go  beyond  that ;  it  was  his  way.  Never  beyond  that. 

That  day  Ross  did  not  go  to  sleep ;  she  did  not  laugh  at  the 
squabbling  about  her;  but  sat,  puckered  up  in  an  old-womanish 
fashion,  her  chin  in  her  hands,  selling  a  bunch  of  sage  now  and  then, 
and  dropping  the  pennies  in  her  pocket. 


28  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  windows  of  a  house  down  the  street  were  opun,  and  she 
could  hear  a  violin  within.  The  boy  only  played  some  simple  little 
air  over  and  over,  but  it  made  her  cry,  with  a  homesick,  lonely  feel 
ing,  new  to  her. 

At  last  it  grew  clear  to  her.  She  was  going  to  help  herself. 
Then  she  sat  straight  up,  her  peaked,  sharp  face  and  soft,  brown 
eyes  staring  into  the  fish  stall.  She  would  be  a  woman  out  there  in 
the  world  some  day.  She  would  be  educated ;  stand  higher  than 
Strebling  could  have  placed  her. 

She  would  have  no  help,  not  from  the  living  man  who  called 
himself  her  father,  nor  the  dead  one  who  had  loaned  her  his  name. 

Her  chin  sunk  into  her  hand  again,  and  she  sat  quiet  and  un 
smiling.  In  the  course  of  the  morning  Kit  Vance  called  to  her  for 
some  change.  "  Ross  !  Rosslyn  Comly  ! "  she  said. 

"  Ross  Burley's  my  name,"  said  the  little  girl,  handing  over  the 
money.  "  My  mother's  name's  good  enough  for  me." 

"Why,  you  ben't  agoin'  to  make  that  of  yerself!"  cried  Kit, 
shrewishly,  at  which  they  all  laughed.  For  there  had  been  some 
ugly  rumors  about  Burley's  daughter,  which  were  not  yet  forgotten. 

"  Ross  Burley's  my  name,"  steadily  arranging  her  herbs.  She 
thought,  hot  with  her  purpose  from  head  to  foot,  "I'll  go  just  as  I 
am,  shame  and  all.  They  shall  see  what  I  can  do.  I'll' borrow 
nobody's  name." 

When  the  afternoon  shadows  began  to  lengthen,  she  grew  sleepy, 
thinking  of  the  purpose ;  one  thing  forever  is  tiresome,  so  she  got 
out  her  thimble,  and  a  little  box  of  purple  and  green  silk  rags,  and 
be^an  to  make  her  doll  an  entire  new  suit.  She  had  it  finished  when 

O 

she  went  home  that  evening,  and  tried  it  on  to  show  her  grand 
father,  thinking  of  it  more  than  anything  else.  Old  Burley  saw  no 
change  in  her,  and  she  knew  of  none. 

It  was  only  a  trowel's  weight  of  earth  that  had  been  lifted,  but 
the  ground  was  broken  for  the  building  that  was  to  be,  and  no  man 
could  lay  it  straight  again. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    DISPATCH. 

IFTEEN  years  have  passed :  the 
market  stall,  and  the  yellow- 
haired  little  girl  in  it  are  gone. 
But  the  child  cannot  be  as  far 
off,  and  unreal  to  us,  as  she  is 
to  the  Ross  Burley  of  to-day. 
Instead  of  market  and  herb- 
girl,  then ;  a  road  cut  through 
a  farm  lying  in  the  rich  river- 
bottom  of  the  Cumberland,  in 
Kentucky.  A  mere  belt  of 
yellow  clay ;  grass-grown,  and 
full  of  the  ruts  and  holes  made 
by  the  hoofs  of  the  cattle, 
with  high  banks  on  either 
side ;  a  badly-kept  road,  only 
used  as  a  drift-way  by  which 
the  mules  and  cows  of  the 
farms  inside  were  driven  down 
to  the  ford  yonder.  But  a  lone 
ly,  pretty  bit  of  landscape  for 
a  picture,  with  the  low  Octo 
ber  sun  slanting  over  the  bronzed  stubble-fields  on  one  side,  throwing 
a  maze  of  black  lines  of  fence  shadow  down  into  the  dry  road,  and 
shooting  level  lances  of1  light  into  the  thick  undergrowth  of  the  op 
posite  bank,  and  the  dark  oak  and  ash  woods  beyond,  out  of  which 
the  autumnal  tints  are  just  fading,  scarlets  and  chrome  yellows  alike 
sinking  into  a  dull  copper  color.  The  strip  of  road,  the  mosses  of 
red  and  blackish  green  mottling  the  banks,  the  sumach  bushes  with 
knobs  of  maroon  velvet,  reddening  in  the  sunlight  where  they  were 
thrust  out  from  the  green ;  blackened  maple  leaves  blown  along  by 
the  wind ;  the  rustling  of  the  trees ;  the  thrum,  thrum  of  the  wood 
pecker  ;  that  was  all  that  there  was  jto  see  or  hear. 


30  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Yet  Miss  Conrad,  taking  her  evening  walk,  pacing  along  in  her 
usual  grave,  steady  fashion,  was  conscious  of  an  unwonted  stillness 
and  loneliness  in  the  road.  There  were  no  brown  chippeys  hopping 
before  her  as  usual  in  the  ruts,  or  squirrels  peering  down  from  the 
fence-rails  with  beady  black  eyes;  her  own,  gray  and  straightfor 
ward,  which  seemed  to  observe  nothing,  suffered  no  trifles  like  these 
to  escape  them ;  the  senses,  too,  with  which  Nature  had  endowed 
Margaret  Conrad's  slow,  solid,  white  body,  were  keen  as  those  of  a 
hound  or  an  Indian.  She  noted  a  peculiar  stillness  in  the  air,  a  faint 
sweet  smell,  which  disappeared  when  she  tried  to  give  it  name. 
Here  and  there,  too,  as  she  passed  along,  the  grass  was  darker,  and 
damp  in  spots  under  her  feet.  There  had  been  no  rain,  and  it  was  too 
early  for  dew.  She  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  road,  disliking,  as 
usual,  what  she  did  not  understand.  When  she  came  to  the  river, 
and  sat  down  there,  she  had  a  certainty  in  her  mind  that  she  had 
left  something  behind  her  in  the  narrow  strip  of  road,  other  than 
the  underbrush,  and  yellow  clay,  and  red  October  sunset. 

She  sat  for  an  hour  or  two  on  the  pebbles  of  the  beach,  her  hands 
clasped  about  her  knees,  as  motionless  as  any  tree-stump  near  her, 
until  the  melancholy  twilight  came,  and  darkening,  gave  place  to  a 
clear,  cold  moonrise.  Neither  twilight  nor  moonrise  suggested  any 
of  the  usual  delicate,  flavorless  reveries  of  young  maidens  to  her  brain ; 
she  was  fully  occupied  in  watching  a  frost-bitten  bee  creeping  home. 
She  made  a  bridge  of  her  firm  finger  for  it  once  or  twice  across 
perils  in  the  way  ;  at  home  she  was  a  successful  bee-fancier,  because, 
perhaps,  the  bees  fancied  her,  as  they  always  do  people  of  cleanly, 
sweet  habit  and  kindly  temper.  Margaret  never  had  read  a  Hymn 
to  Nature  in  her  life,  but  she  was  a  keen  judge  of  cattle;  had  found 
out  that  caterpillars  would  move  to  music,  and  a  hundred  traits  of 
the  Kentucky  fishes  and  wild  fowl  that  are  not  in  the  books.  "  They 
were  better  company  than  most  people,"  she  said,  with  a  dogged 
scorn  of  her  lovers,  and  of  grammar. 

Coming  back  through  the  road,  she  stopped  now  and  then  to  lis 
ten  ;  but  the  silence  was  unnaturally  deep ;  once  she  startled  a  black, 
ill-looking  bird  from  a  spot  among  the  bushes,  and  flapping  its 
wings  heavily,  it  flew  away,  circling  through  the  moonlight. 
The  falling  dew  had  almost  chilled  the  weak  odor  out  of  the  air. 
Yet  at  times  she  caught  it  faintly;  once  or  twice  a  swarm  of 
black  beetles  scattered  before  her  feet;  the  maze  of  shadowed 
lines  on  the  moonlit  road  looked  to  her  like  mysterious  writing.  She 
halted,  then  presently  shutting  her  mouth  closer  as  if  she  had  read 
the  writing,  and  comprehended  it,  went  on  out  of  the  road  at  an 
even,  steady  pace,  to  the  lane  beyond,  in  which  she  heard  voices 
approaching. 

She  stopped,  and  in  a  moment  saw  the  red  spark  of  a  cigar  as  it 
was  thrown  away,  and  two  men  coming  toward  her.  She  pulled 
on  her  hood  impatiently. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  31 

"Neither  will  do;  the  book-worm  would  make  as  miserable  a 
bungle  of  the  matter  as  poor  Rob,"  she  thought. 

"  Stop.  Turn  back  with  me.  We  will  go  to  the  house ;'  there's 
something  uncanny  down  that  road,"  gathering  up  the  heavy  folds 
of  her  dress  as  she  stepped  up  on  the  long  grass. 

One  of  them  removed  his  cap,  showing  a  lazy,  good-humored  face, 
and  bending  six  feet  of  loose-jointed,  broadly-built  body  deferen 
tially  as  he  spoke  to  her,  with  a  turgid  sort  of  tenderness  in  voice 
and  look. 

The  other,  a  tall  man,  who  looked  grave  and  middle-aged  be 
side  the  dashing  young  soldier,  fell  back. 

"  I  mean,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  that  there's  a  wreck  down  yonder, 
which  I  have  found;  and  I  warn  you  off  from  it,  Rob.  That 
was  all." 

"  It  is  fortunate  that  you  found  nothing  worse,  strolling  about  so 
late,  with  our  army  at  Monticello,  and  the  Yankees  at  Somerset. 
Zollicoffer  can  rein  in  the  bushwhackers  no  better  than  Schoepf.  A 
stray  shot — If  you  have  no  thought  for  yourself,"  lowering  his 
voice,  "  for  me — 

"  That  will  do,  Rob,"  dryly.  "  There  !  I  knew  you'd  stumble  if 
you  did  not  pick  your  steps." 

The  young  man  drew  himself  up,  muttering  angrily. 

"  I  had  no  wish  to  snub  you,  Rob,  boy,  if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
in  the  same  grave,  motherly  manner.  "  Not  more  than  I  would  old 
Rover.  You're  not  unlike  a  good  breed  of  Newfoundland,  after  all," 
looking  up  into  his  flushed,  handsome  face,  with  a  laugh.  "  You're 
as  honest,  and  as  game,  and  as  dull !  I  never  thought  of  the  like 
ness  before,"  and  again  she  laughed  good  humoredly,  and  swept  on 
with  her  firm,  free  step,  complacent  at  having  at  last  hit  on  the  true 
estimate  of  Rob  Strebling,  and  set  it  out  so  neatly. 

He  fell  back  beside  the  older  man  to  give  her  the  path,  following 
her  large,  compact  figure  with  a  baffled,  feeble  smile,  and  dog-like, 
affectionate  eyes.  Once,  helping  her  through  a  stile,  his  hand  lin 
gered  unseen  on  the  folds  of  her  dress.  It  was  corded  satin,  of  some 
dark,  warm  color;  heavy,  rich,  and  quiet,  as  was  all  her  drapery; 
to  Strebling  it  seemed  a-  part  of  herself.  The  man  beside  him  bit 
his  thin  lips,  and  buttoned  his  coat  nervously,  wishing  in  his  soul 
that  the  day  was  come  when  these  guests  would  be  gone,  and  lie 
could  be  quiet  again  with  his  book  and  his  laboratory;  acids  were 
never  coarse,  nor  alkalies  vulgar ;  and  if  a  book  was  a  vapid  com 
panion  you  could  put  it  down ;  but  these  people  were  guests  and 
kinsfolk.  He  had  an  alarmed  sense  of  especial  antipathy  for  this  re 
markable  young  woman  who  knew  no  more  of  the  winsome  little 
affectations  of  other  girls  than  would  a  Normandy  draught-horse ; 
but  be  she  what  she  might,  it  was  contrary  to  his  Virginia  notions 
of  decorum  to  annoy  any  woman,  even  by  homage,  or  to  lay  a  finger 


32  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

unpermitted  on  the  hem  of  her  garment.  No  gentleman  could  act 
as  Rob  Strebling  had  done ;  no  Kentucky  gentleman,  at  least. 

They  reached  the  veranda  of  the  house ;  Rob  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
to  say  good-night — a  dashing,  soldier-like  figure,  he  well  knew,  with 
the  moonlight  full  on  his  curly  brown  hair  and  beard,  and  frank 
face.  Inside  of  the  major's  uniform  of  the  C.  S.  A.,  he  suffered  to 
be  seen  the  waistcoat  of  rich  Lyons  velvet,  the  delicate  shirt  front ; 
his  studs  were  diamonds ;  his  sleeve-buttons  emeralds ;  his  ring  a 
ruby;  a  heavy  rose  perfume  stirred  .about  him;  the  year  of  the 
war  had  not  materially  changed  either  his  clothes  or  tastes. 

Miss  Conrad  sent  him  off  as  a  boy  to  school.  "  You're  on  guard, 
Bob,  you  say,  to-night.  It  is  quite  time  you  were  gone;"  giving 
him  her  hand  as  if  it  had  been  a  bit  of  wood — turning  to  the  other 
man  with  a  relief  in  her  eyes,  as  they  fell  on  his  scrupulously  quiet 
dress  and  face. 

"You  are  severe  in  your  discipline  of  Strebling,"  he  said,  with 
an  amused  smile. 

"Of  the  dead  and  absent,  no  evil,"  dryly.  "But  I  wanted  him 
safely  set  on  his  way — "  An  uneasy  glance  at  the  road  ended  the 
sentence.  The  moon  had  drifted  behind  heavy  clouds — clouds  of 
the  opaque  gray,  that  prophesy  snow. 

"  Your  wreck  will  be  hid  before  morning?"  opening  the  door  for 
ner  to  pass  in. 

"  Yes.  But  we  cannot  go  down.  There  is  a  patrol  by  the  ford 
at  night,"  anxiously  knitting  her  brow. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  did  you  see  ?  "  startled  by  her  face. 

"I  saw  nothing.  When  you  start  out  gunning  in  the  morning, 
Garrick,  I  will  go  with  you  down  to  the  road.  There  will  be  less 
risk  of  interruption  then  than  now." 

She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  quiet  authority  which  amused  him.  The 
man  who  had  spent  his  life  in  a  library  was  but  a  boy,  in  her  opin 
ion,  when  work  was  needed. 

They  went  into  the  warm,  lighted  hall.  Without,  the  moon 
threw  a  white  light  over  the  farm-house,  and  fields,  and  the  woods 
and  tents  of  the  outposts  of  Zollicoffer's  army.  But  in  the  lonely 
road  there  was  a  shadow.  The  moonlight,  which  framed  all  else 
into  a  quiet  home  picture,  ignored,  and  left  unfound  the  alien,  un 
welcome  thing  that  lay  under  the  drifting  maple  leaves,  with  its 
face  upturned.  When  the  morning  air  lifted  the  clouds,  and,  driving 
them  apart,  showed  the  arched  blue  overhead,  and  the  veiling  snow 
whitely  folded  over  tent  and  farm-house  and  field,  a  few  flakes  had 
found  their  way  through  the  thicket,  down  to  the  wreck  beneath, 
vainly  trying  to  cover  it  with  the  decency  of  their  charity. 

By  day-break,  Garrick  Randolph,  game-bag  slung  across  his  back, 
and  gun  in  hand,  was  breaking  the  snow  down  to  the  cattle-road, 
followed  by  Miss  Conrad,  who  shivered  inside  of  her  heavy  cloak 
and  hood. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  (        33 

He  asked  no  questions,  seeing  that  it  was  her  mood  to  be  silent. 
Her  mood  was  not  only  silent — it  infected  him  with  a  gravity  which 
he  tried  in  vain  to  shake  off,  humming  a  tune  briskly  to  himself 
when  he  had  left  her  any  distance  behind.  When  they  reached  the 
road,  however,  she  took  the  advance,  going  on  quickly  until  she 
came  to  the  spot  from  whence  she  had  chased  the  beetles.  It  was 
covered  now  with  snow. 

She  pointed  into  the  bushes.     "  Put  down  your  gun  and  bag." 

"  What  is  it  ?    What  did  you  see  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  told  you  I  saw  nothing.  But  I  felt  detath  in  there. 
I  always  know  when  there  is  a  dead  body  near  me.  How  could  I 
tell  you — how  ?  "  impatiently.  "  Hold  back  this  grape-vine — it  is 
across  my  foot,"  as  she  thrust  her  way  beside  him  into  the  thicket. 
She  was  as  strong  a  woman  as  he  was  a  man ;  and  she  kept  step 
with  him.  But  when  they  had  come  to  a  heap  of  clothes  covered 
with  dead  leaves  and  the  melting  snow-flakes,  she  turned  aside. 

"  I  knew  this  work  would  be  to  do.  I'm  sick.  But  give  me  a 
minute,  and  I'll  help  you,  Garrick." 

She  was  of  women,  womanish,  after  all,  a  fact  which  Garrick 
sometimes  doubted ;  her  grave,  high-featured  face  was  colorless,  but 
for  the  blue  scoring  about  her  mouth  and  eyes,  and  her  hands  cold 
as  the  dead  man's  body  which  she  helped  to  carry  out  of  the  thicket. 
But  she  did  help  to  carry  it,  and  when  it  was  laid  on  the  road,  took 
the  head  on  her  lap  to  keep  it  out  of  the  snow. 

"  Who  is  it,  Garrick?  "  after  he  had  busied  himself  about  it — she 
with  her  head  turned  away. 

"A  scout,  I  suspect,  shot  by  some  stragglers  from  one  or  the 
other  army.  He  has  been  wounded  here  in  the  side,  and  escaped  so 
far  to  creep  into  the  thicket  and  die." 

"North  or  South?" 

He  scanned  the  butternut  clothes,  the  square,  compactly-built 
face.  "  The  garb  is  the  garb  of  Esau,  but  the  face  is  Jacob's." 

She  made  an  effort  to  fold  the  ragged  coat  over  his  breast,  while 
Garrick  kept  his  thin,  nervous  fingers  on  the  cold  forehead,  taking 
time  leisurely  to  philosophize.  He  was  looking  at  the  great  mys 
tery  of  Death  through  this  poor  shell:  thinking  how,  perhaps,  an 
eternity  of  joy  or  suffering  already  lay  between  himself  and  this 
man ;  thinking  of  the  hour  when  he — 

"  Look  here,  Garrick !  Only  this  thin  cotton  rag  between  his 
chest  and  the  snow !  God  help  us !"  She  was  unfastening  her 
cloak  and  making  a  shroud  of  it  as  she  spoke. 

"  What  matters  the  fate  of  this  husk  ?     Life  never  seemed  so  real 

to  me  as  now  in  this  unexpected wreck,  as  you  call  it.     Your 

wreck  is  a  bark  now  on  an  infinite  tide — " 

"I  don't  know  much  about  the  tides  in  the  other  world,  Gar 
rick.     The  good  Lord  gives  me  so  much  to  do  here.     I  suppose 
3 


34  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

He  takes  care  of  us  all  through.  I  think  this  man  was  a  mechanic," 
her 'gray,  absorbing  eyes  passing  over  his  face  and  horny  hands  with 
their  peculiar  quiet  gaze.  "It  is  a  Northern  face,  and  manly — 
manly." 

She  looked  up  to  the  range  of  low  hills  bounding  the  northern 
horizon.  "  I  suppose,"  she  said  slowly,  "  he  has  an  old  mother,  or 
a  wife  maybe,  somewhere,  who  think  nobody  else  in  the  world  is 
like  him.  I  wish  they  knew  that  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  the  poor  fel 
low.  I  wish  they  did." 

Something  in  the  deep,  slow  voice  made  the  man's  nerves  un 
steady,  and  brought  tears  to  his  eyes;  he  did  not  brush  them 
away,  not  thinking  whether  she  noticed  them  or  not.  He  felt  him 
self  to  be  an  unsteady  sort  of  fellow  in  a  practical  work  like  this, 
and  began  fumbling  with  the  man's  feet,  which  were  clogged  with 
snow,  ashamed  to  acknowledge  he  was  waiting  for  a  suggestion 
from  the  girl. 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  not  calling  some  of  the  people  down  from 
the  house,"  she  said,  doubtfully.  "  If  he  had  been  a  Northerner, 
and  Rob  Strebling's  father  there — unless  it  should  be  one  of  his 
loyal  days,  after  a  Union  victory —  What  is  this  clenched  in  his 
hand?" 

"Nothing.  A  bullet  only.  I  think,"  mildly,  "you  are  unjust  to 
Strebling ;  he  is  a  sincere  man,  though  vacillating — " 

"  Let  me  look  at  that  bullet ;  for  a  Minie  rifle,  eh  ?  As  for  Mr. 
Strebling — wherever  there's  weakness,  there's  crime,  before  or  after. 
Garrick  !  there  is  something  wrong  with  this  bullet — it  is  too  light," 
weighing  it  in  her  palm.  In  another  moment  she  was  at  work  on  it 
with  her  teeth,  twisting  it  in  the  centre.  A  screw  suddenly  opened, 
and  the  bullet  fell  into  two  pieces.  She  drew  out  a  fine  slip  of  pa 
per,  which  was  covered  with  minute  writing. 

"  This  is  your  business.  You  are  the  man  of  us  two,"  she  said 
gravely,  handing  it  to  him. 

He  took  it,  and  turned  aside  a  moment.  When  he  came  back,  she 
was  watching  him.  "  He  was  one  of  our  people  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

*'  Whom  can  you  trust  ?  " 

Garrick  stopped  in  his  uneasy  walk  up  and  down.  "  Cole,"  after 
a  moment's  pause.  "  He  is  the  blacksmith ;  you  will  find  him  in 
the  quarters,  Miss  Conrad,  if  you  will  help  me  so  far.  He  can 
smuggle  a  box  from  the  shop  here,  and  we  can  put  this  poor  fellow 
out  of  sight." 

She  was  going,  when  he  added,  "  You  had  better  not  return.  It 
will  attract  notice  from  the  house." 

"  Yes."  She  turned  back  then,  and  stooped  over  the  dead  soldier, 
silent  for  a  few  minutes.  When  she  looked  up,  Garrick  was  stand 
ing  with  his  cap  lifted. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  35 

"I  was  not  saying  any  prayer,"  quickly;  "I  am  a  heathen,  I  be 
lieve  ;  but  there  are  so  many  different  sort  of  people  in  the  world ! 
I  was  trying  to  remember  his  face,  in  case — there  might  be  such  a 
case,  you  know — I  should  ever  find  out  any  of  his  kinsfolk.  I  could 
tell  them — "  She  stopped. 

"It  is  an  honorable  face,"  said  Garrick,  looking  down  on  it  with 
his  sensitive,  speculative  eyes ;  "  though  I  should  judge  the  man  to 
be  illiterate  and  of  low  birth.  It  is  thoroughly  plebeian,  but  full 
of  purpose — observe.  I  never  saw  aim  or  persistent  effort  so 
stamped  on  features." 

They  were  both  silent,  standing  on  each  side  of  the  body.  The 
gleam  of  blme  sky  at  dawn  was  already  overcast ;  thick,  gray  clouds 
muffled  the  heavens  from  horizon  to  horizon ;  the  snow  began  to 
fall,  in  a  few  large,  drifting  flakes. 

"  Well !  that  is  the  end  of  it — to  be  shovelled  under  this  snow," 
she  said,  bitter,  on  the  dead  man's  behoof. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Garrick,  his  voice  thin  and  sharp,  "  that 
his  balked  purpose  Avould  taunt  a  man  like  this  always,  whatever 
may  be  his  new  work  in  eternity,  yonder.  I — I  cannot  submit  to 
think  of  the  poor  fellow's  life  being  thwarted  in  what  was  doubt 
less  its  one  heroic  deed,  when  I  could  have  helped  it." 

"You?" 

"  I  could  finish  his  work." 

"You  mean—" 

"  These  are  dispatches  from  Schoepf.  The  fate  of  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland  may  depend  on  them.  I  judge  this  from  a  word 
or  two  which  I  have  deciphered.  There  are  few  ciphers  -  which  I 
cannot  read,  and  this  is  the  contrivance  of  a  school-boy.  I  can 
carry  them,  and,  delivering  them  without  giving  my  own  name, 
discover  his." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  He  would  lose  no  credit — don't  you  comprehend  ?  The  mother 
or  wife  you  spoke  of  would  believe  his  errand  done  before  he 
died." 

Margaret's  gray  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  or  two  on  the  thin, 
glowing  face  before  her.  "  I  understand,"  in  a  lower  voice.  "  But 
do  you  know  the  risk  of  crossing  up  into  Ohio  ?  I  do.  There  is 
not  a  scrub-oak  on  the  barrens,  behind  which  you  may  not  wager 
you  will  hear  the  twang  of  a  musket,  and  you,  Garrick  Randolph, 
will  be  a  doubly-marked  man.  There  are  none  of  your  neighbors 
who  do  not  know  that,  long  ago,  you  would  have  been  in  the 
Federal  army,  but  that  you  would  not  bring  ruin  on  your  father's 
head.  Even  I  knew  it,  in  Pennsylvania." 

"  There  is  no  cause  to  keep  me  now,"  he  said,  quietly.  He  did 
not  glance  at  the  black  clothes  he  wore,  nor  did  his  eyelids  tremble. 
Whatever  his  father  and  he  had  been  to  each  other  was  known  to 


36  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

them — the  one  dead,  the  other  living — this  woman  should  not  lay 
her  meddling  hand  on  it. 

"  If  you  wish  to  join  the  Federal  ranks,  there  is  Schoepf  at  Som 
erset,"  she  persisted.  "  See,  Mr.  Randolph,  I  am  a  stranger  to  yo>i. 
If  we  had  been  twins,  and  sat  on  our  mother's  knee,  we  would  have 
been  strangers.  But  I  do  not  want  to  see  you  throw  your  life 
away  on  a  fool-hardy  bit  of  Quixotism,  such  as  this.  I  crossed  the 
Ohio  a  month  ago  to  come  here;  but  even  I,  though  passed  from 
one  outpost  to  another  with  a  flag  of  truce,  knew  that  we  came 
through  the  barrens  at  the  risk  of  life.  And  you — look  at  this," 
pointing  to  the  man  at  her  feet. 

"You  are  going  back  again." 

"  That  is  for  the  help  of  the  living,"  quickly,  "  not  the  dead." 

She  was  turning  off,  when  she  came  back  hastily.  "  Give  me  the 
paper.  I  am  going  back.  I  hate  anything  underhand;  but  I'll 
smuggle  it  through — in  the  gauntlet  of  my  glove,  in  my  boot-heel. 
Give  it  to  me,  Garrick." 

"  No^"  putting  down  her  hand  gently.  "  I  have  a  fancy  to  do 
this  myself  for  the  poor  fellow." 

She  stood  silent  a  moment.  "  So  be  it.  I  am  glad  you  told  me 
of  the  dispatch,"  in  her  ordinary  slow,  grave  tones.  "  I  am  glad 
you  trusted  me.  I  will  keep  the  sedr et." 

Garrick  lifted  his  cap,  looking  after  her  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  I 
think  I  told  you,"  he  said,  when  she  was  out  of  hearing,  "  because 
you  knew  it  already." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     DEPAKTUKE. 

" '  Now  stir  the  fire,  and  draw  the  curtains  close, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in.' 

AH,  Cowper !  Cowper !  Let  your  Tennysons  or  your  Gothes 
probe  human  nature  as  they  will,  it  is  the  bard  of  Olney  that  soothes 
us — soothes  us ;  like  Summer  air,  or  sleep,  or — um !  Yes,  Cowper 
for  me,  Miss  Conrad." 

"  Very  likely,"  was  her  not  very  relevant  reply,  not  looking  up 
>  from  her  sewing. 

It  was  Rob  Strebling's  father  in  one  ot  his  sentimental  veins, 
.standing  on  the  hearth-rug  beside  her,  his  back  to  the  glowing  fire, 
still  lean,  padded,  glossily  dressed ;  not  a  day  older,  apparently, 
than  he  was  fifteen  years  ago,  for  a  sandy  wig  had  replaced  the 
sandy  hair,  and  the  whiskers,  whicli  might  have  betrayed  telltale 
touches  of  time,  were  gone  from  his  clean-shaven  face  ;  one  white, 
wrinkled  hand  was  held  behind  him,  the  fingers  of  the  other  gently 
patted  his  lips  as  he  looked,  affably  smiling,  down  at  her 


39 
WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

?ir»  fc  mission  of  the  poet  is  to  soothe.  Surely,  to  soothe.  lu 
icf  J  the  office  of  the  fair  sex  when  we  turn  from  the  fray  and 
•jpf  the  world's  struggles  to  the  sanctities — sanctuary  of 
j|  Neither  poet  nor  woman  should  look  into  the  morbid  depths 
(nan  nature.  Ah,  vexed  human  nature  ! "  said  Mr.  Strebling, 
full,  jriing  to  get  back  to  land,  finding  himself  in  deep  water. 
UP  nijvhat  should  a  young  creature  like  Margaret  know  of  frays  and 
slon  in  nature  ?  "  said  a  sweet  voice,  and  an  old  lady  beside  her  put 
3  jicate  hand,  in  a  half-scared  way,  on  the  heavy  folds  of  lustre- 
!•  iblack  hair,  eyeing  her  furtively,  as  a  mild,  motherly  old  puss 
simljit  the  young  hound  just  imported  to  the  fireside  from  some 
^  Id  of  which  she  knew  nothing.  Young  women  of  the  present 
<¥.  e  were  different  from  those  she  knew.  It  was  owing  to  the 
"  ?^arch  of  mind,"  perhaps,  or  transcendentalism,  which  was  the  same 
th;|ig,  she  believed ;  they  had  not  penetrated  into  the  old  Virginia 
houses  in  which  she  had  lived  ;  among  the  light-hearted,  clear-eyed 
young  girls  there ;  girls  whose  literary  tastes  were  formed  on  the 
Spectator,  and  Scott's  novels ;  who  dispensed  the  hospitality  of 
their  fathers'  houses  in  a  gay,  gracious  way,  going  to  Richmond  in 
Winter  and  to  Greenbrier  in  Summer,  dancing  with  their  cousins 
until  they  married  some  of  them,  and  became  housekeepers,  and 
mistresses,  and  mothers.  Perhaps  they  did  not  keep  up  with  the 
run  of  current  books,  but  they  were  tainted  with  no  vulgar  radical 
ism  about  slavery  or  spirit  rapping,  and  there  was  a  repose,  a 
thoroughbred  air  about  them  which  she  had  never  seen  in  the  rest 
less  New  England  women.  As  for  this  new-found  relation,  she  was 
of  another  species — if  her  mother  was  a  Page  ;  and  the  old  lady's 
mild,  faintly-colored  face  turned  from  time  to  time  wistfully  toward 
the  girl,  while  she  smiled  graciously  in  assent  to  Mr.  Streb  ling's 
lecture  on  the  poets.  Margaret's  quiet,  downright,  unsmiling  face 
was  very  attractive  to  gentlemen  she  had  heard ;  she  was  thankful 
her  nephew,  Garrick,  had  escaped ! 

"  How  peculiarly  you  sew,  dear  Margaret,"  she  purred.  "  Your 
threads  are  so  long,  and  your  needle  moves  so  steadily  and  swiftly. 
Now  my  niece  Lou  has  so  many  finical  little  ways,  it  is  quite  a  play 
to  see  her ;  but  you  sit  there  always  quiet,  and  strong  as  a  ma 
chine — " 

"  Ah  !  here  comes  Garrick ! "  said  Mr.  Strebling,  peeping  out 
through  the  crimson  curtains  into  the  snow-covered  avenue  without. 
"  Out  gunning  since  morning  !  He  will  bring  in  a  gust  of  cold  air 
presently.  These  people  who  are  capable  of  dragging  all  day 
through  snow  for  such  game  as  rabbits,  have  no  comprehension  of 
weaker  nerves,"  shivering  back  to  the  fire.  Margaret  did  not  lift 
her  face  from  her  work  ;  she  had  heard  the  quick,  nervous  step  on 
the  snow  long  before.  Randolph  had  been  gone  since  morning ; 
the  man  was  buried  then,  she  concluded,  and  the  hastily  formed 


365  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

n)lan  of  the  morning  was  to  be  carried  into  effect ;  the  da}  been 
spent  in  arranging  matters  on  the  plantation  before  his  ture. 
He  would  start  that  night.     When  he  came  into  the  r^  few 
moments  later,  carefully  shaved  and  dressed,  as  usual,  ^e> 
gray  eyes  rested  on  him  with  a  sincere  pleasure.     He 
that  there  was  every  chance  that  he  was  going  to  his  deatfy 
was  so  quiet  about  it !     Who  would  have  believed  that  ivaf 
such  thorough  pluck  in  the  nervous,  awkward  fellow  ?  " 

But  there  was  a  drop  of  gallant  blood  in  everybody  if  \r 
touched  the  right  vein !  She  got  up  suddenly,  and  held  out    s 
to  Garrick,  as  one  brave  man  might  to  another ;  there  w    ^CJ 
thing  generous  in  the  touch  of  the  hand,  which  was  both  1      J 
warm,  that  was  like  a  hearty  cheer  to  him  starting  on  hiL^J     /n 
hope ;  it  brought  a  heat  to  his  thin  cheek,  and  a  cheerfuller  gi  J 
for  them  all,  for  Garrick,  when  touched,  was  always  most  apt 
playful  and  joking.     Mrs.  Page  knew  that,  and  looked  uneasily  ^e  om 
him  to  the  girl's  gray  eyes,  which  had  burned  for  a  moment  v       -ouiu 
sudden  splendor  of  meaning.  ^°     ;pecti 

"  Dear !  dear !  if  Garrick  should  be  snared,  after  all !"  she  tho  he; 
as  she  bustled  out  to  order  his  supper.  "  They  say  old  Conrad  hlixi 
Indian  blood,"  and  then  grew  quiet,  remembering  how  delicately  fas 
tidious  he  was  in  the  matter  of  family,  how  he  cherished  his  pure 
descent  back  to  the  Champernouns  of  Elizabeth's  time,  a  lineage  on 
which  there  had  fallen  no  stain  of  dishonor.  Cultured,  honorable 
gentlemen,  the  Randolphs,  all.  "  And  poor  old  Conrad — going  from 
horse-racing  to  itinerant  preaching  at  a  jump  !  No,  no  !  he's  safe ! " 
and  she  trod  lightly  back,  rustling  her  gray  silk  dress,  followed  by 
Viney  with  the  tray  of  devilled  turkey,  corn-bread,  and  coffee. 

She  had  no  trouble  in  forcing  Garrick  to  eat ;  he  established  himself 
cosily  in  a  corner,  made  her  wait  on  him,  brought  the  tears  to  her 
eyes,  laughing  at  his  jokes.  He  was  always  her  darling,  but  it  was 
not  often  he  was  boyish  and  light-hearted  as  to-night. 

Margaret,  whose  eyes  did  not  apparently  leave  her  work,  saw  that 
Randolph's  face  never  lighted  with  his  laugh.  There  was  a  worn  easy- 
chair  by  the  fire  which  had  been  his  father's ;  when  he  died  and  Garrick 
came  home  to  the  house  in  which  there  was  only  left  poor  old  Aunt 
Laura  to  welcome  him,  he  had  taken  it  for  his  own ;  judging  himself,  it 
may  be,  as  he  sat  in  it  night  after  night,  whether  he  filled  the  place 
of  the  true,  honorable  gentleman  who  was  gone. 

He  did  not  sit  in  it  to-night ;  did  not  trust  himself  to  look  up 
once  at  the  shrewd,  benevolent  face  of  his  fathui  above  it  on  the 
wall.  "  He  thinks  it  is  his  last  night  in  the  homestead,"  thought 
Margaret. 

But  presently  Garrick  and  his  undertaking  faded  out  of  her  mind 
as  she  sewed.  Her  own  affairs  had  trouble  enough  in  them ;  and  aa 
for  heroism,  she  had  come  out  of  a  hurly-burly  in  which  the  very 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  39 

air,  she  had  fancied,  was  made  up  of  the  breaths  of  men  dying  hero 
ically  for  causes  which  they  thought  good. 

Mr.  Strebling  meanwhile  watched  her  critically  as  he  sat,  and 
chafed  his  hands  softly.  He  was  a  connoisseur  in  woman,  but  this 
was  a  new  type.  He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  the  pale, 
full,  high-featured  face  was  German  or  Indian ;  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  whether  it  was  dull  from  stolidity  or  from  the  repres 
sion  of  passionate,  electric  energy ;  at  times  he  called  the  large,  firm, 
whit  e  figure  with  its  slow  and  strong  motions,  its  heavy  crown  of 
black  hair,  its  solitary  expression  in  full,  half-closed  gray  eyes — 
simply  coarse ;  and  again  he  doubted  whether  a  true  artist  would 
not  have  chosen  it  as  a  rare  type  for  a  grand  primeval  woman ; 
whether  any  petty  graces  could  equal  this  absolute  freedom,  this 
power  in  rest  or  motion. 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  us  to-morrow,  Miss  Conrad  ?  "  breaking 
silence,  "  your  filial  affection  supports  you  through  great  perils." 

To  which  she  made  answer  in  her  slow,  grave  way,  bringing  all 
down  to  the  levellest  commonplace,  that  a  flag  of  truce  prevented 
all  difficulty,  and  that  it  was  not  filial  affection  that  brought  her  to 
Kentucky,  but  to  sell  the  mules. 

Aunt  Laura  gave  an  hysteric  little  scream.  "  But,  Margaret,  I 
did  not  understand  this  before.  Surely  it  would  have  been  better 
for  your  father  to  have  risked  all  greater  danger  for  himself,  than  to 
have  suffered  you  to  engage  in  such  unwomanly  work." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that;  when  there  is  work  for  me,  I  very 
seldom  think  whether  other  women  have  it  to  do  or  not.  Some  of 
them  would  not  like  it,  perhaps ;  but  I  am  a  very  good  judge  of 
mules,  and  the  stock  on  the  farm  had  to  be  sold  or  we  should  have 
lost  it  all.  One  army  or  the  other  had  carried  off  half  of  it.  I  saw 
a  dealer  in  Monticello,  and  told  him  he  could  have  the  remainder  for 
a  certain  sum,  and  he  paid  me  the  money.  As  for  Mr.  Conrad,  it 
was  not  fear  that  detained  him ;  there  was  a  reason  wThy  he  could 
not  come."  The  face  looking  up  at  Aunt  Laura  was  as  simple  and 
honest  as  a  child's,  and  looked  child-like,  for  the  moment,  from  some 
inward  trouble  that  mastered  it.  But  she  dropped  her  eyes  and  kept 
her  pain  to  herself. 

"  Dear !  dear !  "  The  old  lady  tapped  the  ends  of  her  fingers  to 
gether.  Garrick  was  looking  attentively  at  the  girl,  who  had  seen 
more  of  the  world  and  of  action  in  the  past  month  than  had  entered 
into  his  whole  life.  Aunt  Laura's  wrinkled  cheek  grew  hot ;  the 
lace  strings  of  her  cap  fluttered ;  it  was  as  well  that  he  should  be 
reminded  of  Miss  Conrad's  antecedents. 

"  What  did  your  father  do  with  his  turf-horses  when  he  entered 
the  Methodist  Conference,  Margaret  ?  Very  finely  blooded,  his  stock 
was,  my  brother  always  said." 

"  He  kept  the  best  of  his  stud,"  said  the  girl,  folding  up  her  work. 


40  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Black  Hawk  gained  a  dozen  premiums  at  State  fairs  before  the  war 
began.  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  own  a  good  horse 
because  he  works  for  God  ?  "  with  a  smile. 

Aunt  Laura's  lace  fluttered  more  violently,  but  she  only  replied 
by  a  furtive  glance  of  triumph  at  her  nephew. 

Mr.  Strebling  felt  called  to  bring  a  soothing  element  into  the  con 
versation.  He  was  a  good-humored  man,  and  dreaded  the  clashing 
of  women's  tongues. 

''Fairs?  Ah  yes,  my  dear.  That  was  another  good  thing  to 
which  this  miserable  war  put  an  end.  There's  not  a  turn  you  can 
make  from  morning  until  night  in  which  you  are  not  met  by  incon 
venience  growing  out  of  this  gigantic  mistake." 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be,"  sighed  Aunt  Laura,  mildly.  "  My 
hands  are  clear — " 

"  But  the  most  amazing  point  is  the  blindness  of  the  North,'1 
pursued  Mr.  Strebling  hastily,  determined  not  to  give  up  the  track. 
"  If  we  suffer  in  this  manner,  how  much  greater  will  be  the  loss 
there ! " 

"  And  all  for  free  soil !  "  Aunt  Laura  brought  in  when  he  stopped 
for  breath.  "  To  prevent  slavery  on  ground  where  it  could  not  exist. 
An  ideal  negro  in  a  hypothetical  territory,  as  Alexander  Stuart  put 
it.  I  never  understood  the  matter  until  I  heard  him.  Now  I  do." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  madam,  yes  !  "  blandly  nodding.  "  But,  as  I 
observed,  what  is  to  become  of  the  North  shut  off  from  us?  It  is 
a  shop  without  patrons,  a  market  without  customers.  Cut  off  from 
our  supplies,  too.  Cottons,  sugars,  tobacco.  Their  mills  will  close, 
their  operatives  will  rise — their  streets  will  flow  with  blood !  " 

"  I  thought  Philadelphia  and  New  York  unusually  alive  with 
business  when  I  left,"  Margaret  said,  quietly. 

"  What  could  a  child  like  you  know  of  political  ruin  ? "  said 
Aunt  Laura,  with  acerbity. 

Mr.  Strebling  was  suddenly  silent ;  he  began  pacing  up  and  down 
with  long,  uneven  strides.  The  weather-cock,  which  he  called  a 
brain,  was  pointing  another  way.  When  he  stopped,  which  he  did 
presently,  chafing  his  hands  and  smiling  feebly,  there  was  some 
thing  in  his  voice  which  made  Garrick  look  up,  and  reminded  Mar 
garet  that  it  was  an  old  man  who  stood  before  her. 

"  Philadelphia,  my  dear  ?  You  are  going  back  again,  eh  ?  I  had 
Borne  friends  there — some  friends.  I  have  often  asked  about  them, 
but  nobody  seems  to  know  them.  Nobody  seems  to  know  if  they 
are  dead  or  alive." 

"  Who  were  they  ? "  with  a  sudden  deference  in  her  tone. 
"  Perhaps,  I  may  know  them.  Unlikely  things  happen." 

"No,  my  dear,  no,"  resuming  his  slow  walk.  "There  was  a 
Quaker  named  Yates — a  queer  little  body,  who  took  an  odd  fancy 
to  a  mulatto  boy  of  mine.  But  he  died — Sap  died." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  41 

"  Was  there  any  one  else  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  No.  A  little  girl  that — I  took  an  interest  in ;  a  little  girl.  She 
would  be  a  woman  now — Rosslyn." 

"  A  curious  name,"  said  Miss  Conrad,  kindly,  humoring  the  old 
man's  fancy.  For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  her  how  little  was 
done  by  anybody  to  humor  him,  how  empty  of  pleasure  and  in 
terest  his  life  was.  "  If  I  should  meet  Rosslyn  there,  I  will  tell 
her  that  you  remember  her  ?  " 

He  stopped  on  the  hearth-rug,  drawing  his  thin  figure  erect,  and 
rubbing  his  chin  nervously. 

"  You  will  not  meet  her,  madam.  Her  name  is  Rosslyn  Comly. 
Comly  was  a  blacksmith.  She  was  a  market-huckster — she  sold 
fish,  I  think.  There  is  not  one  of  my  house  hands  that  is  not  better 
clothed.  They  would  look  down  on  her  work,  and  her  company. 
No,  Miss  Conrad,  you  will  not  meet  Rosslyn." 

He  spoke  vehemently,  and  when  he  had  finished  an  awkward 
silence  fell  on  the  little  party. 

It  was  broken  by  Cole,  a  middle-aged,  watchful-looking  negro, 
who  came  through  the  half-open  door.  "  Yer  horse  is  ready,  M's 
Garrick,  ef  yer  goin  over  to  Wairford's  to-night." 

"  Why,  Garrick  !  I  thought  you  meant  to  sleep  at  home,"  cried 
Aunt  Laura.  "  It  is  late,  child,"  pulling  out  her  watch. 

"  I  ought  to  go,"  said  Randolph.  He  rose  slowly  and  stood  with 
his  hand  on  the  mantle-shelf,  glancing  out  at  the  night,  with  his 
grave,  reserved,  schoolmaster  air,  as  Miss  Conrad  called  it. 

"  He  flinches  !  "  she  thought.  "  But  many  a  good  horse  balks  at 
the  starting  post." 

She  and  the  negro  watched  him  keenly  as  he  drew  on  his  over 
coat,  slowly  looking  around  the  room.  The  fire  light  shone  warmly 
on  the  cheap  carpet ;  on  the  glossy,  patched  old  sideboard  with  its 
display  of  massive  plate ;  on  the  Copley  and  Allston  hung  over  the 
faded  wall  paper ;  at  Aunt  Laura  herself,  with  all  the  weight  of  the 
honor  of  the  Pages  in  her  lean,  little  body,  and  feebly  dogmatic 
face.  Commonplace  furniture,  and  a  weak  old  woman,  to  Miss  Con-  f 
rad,  but  they  had  a  different  meaning  to  him.  They  were  sentient 
with  the  clean,  sweet  childhood  he  had  spent  among  them,  and  the 
youth  that  followed. 

Shrewd,  wide-awake,  town-bred  fellows,  full  of  pluck  and  energy, 
who  pant  for  the  day  when  they  can  cut  loose  from  "  the  governor  " 
and  make  their  own  way,  can  hardly  understand  what  it  cost  the 
young  Kentuckian  to  leave  this  homestead,  never,  in  all  probability, 
to  come  back.  He  thought  to  himself  with  a  quiet,  inward  smile 
that  it  was  like  tearing  a  shell-fish  fresh  from  its  rock ;  some  of  the 
flesh  and  nerves  would  be  left.  Miss  Conrad  did  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  blue  eyes  that  met  hers  as  she  bowed  good 
night,  and  went  out  to  her  own  room. 


42  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Afraid  ?  "  she  said,  astonished,  to  herself. 

The  Professor  was  not  afraid.  But  it  was  such  a  short  mat 
ter  to  say  good-by !  If  he  never  came  back,  Aunt  Laura  would 
cry  for  a  week  or  two,  and  his  experiments  on  albumen  with  his 
class  would  never  be  finished ;  that  was  all.  There  was  no  enemy 
for  him  to  leave  behind,  no  woman's  lips  to  kiss.  "  If  the  pitcher 
be  broken  at  the  fountain,  it  is  one  that  has  held  but  little  water," 
he  thought.  All  of  Randolph's  thoughts  ran  formally  like  sen 
tences  in  books,  and  sounded  to  him  generally,  as  if  some  one  else 
had  spoken  them,  there  had  been,  so  far,  so  little  live  pleasure  and 
pain  in  them. 

While  Cole  brought  his  horse  to  the  steps,  he  stood  looking  out 
into  the  moonlight,  holding  his  gloves  in  one  hand,  Aunt  Laura  and 
Mr.  Strebling's  patter  of  talk  dully  sounding  behind  him. 

Once  before,  a  boy  fresh  from  college,  he  had  left  home,  gone 
North  to  make  a  fortune.  He  crept  out  of  the  world  he  knew,  the 
little  clan  of  Lees  and  Pages,  with  their  mild  refinement,  old  rules, 
habits,  anecdotes,  even  gestures,  handed  down  from  generation  to 
generation.  He  was  a  crab,  raw  from  its  shell,  bruised  at  every 
turn.  He  was  stunned,  bewildered  with  the  jargon  of  new  theories 
and  facts ;  every  man  he  met  was  a  radical ;  the  air,  the  language, 
the  ideas  were  crude,  untempered,  coarse.  What  could  he  do? 
What  he  did  do  was  to  creep  back  home  again ;  give  up  the  idea 
of  making  a  fortune  and  go  back  to  his  college  class-room  to  teach 
instead  of  to  learn.  He  was  going  from  under  cover  again,  and  if 
he  won  death  in  this  venture  it  would  be  the  t  first  real  stroke  of 
work  he  had  ever  done,  he  thought,  turning  into  the  room  to  say 
good-by,  with  a  sad,  quizzical  smile. 

He  kept  the  face  of  the  dead  man  in  the  road  before  him  as  he 
would  hold  liquor  to  his  lips  to  steady  his  nerve.  This  venture  of 
his  was  a  manly  thing  to  do,  a  deed  of  derring-do,  on  which  his 
old  father  would  have  smiled  grimly.  "  I  would  rather  my  son 
would  die  in  a  great  cause,  than  live  to  comfort  my  old  age,"  he 
had  said,  once. 

When  the  war  began,  his  son  had  theoretically  called  the  struggle 
of  the  Government  for  life  a  great  cause,  but  practically  the  Federal 
German  mercenaries  were  laying  waste  his  friend's  plantations,  so 
he  had  not  gone  to  die  with  them. 

He  said  good-night  now,  with  another  slow  look  around  the 
room,  and  went  out  to  mount  his  horse.  As  he  settled  himself  in 
the  saddle,  "  Oh,  by  the  way,  Cole,"  in  his  usual  indolent  drawl. 
"  If  I  should  not  come  back  you'll  find  your  free  papers,  yours  and 
Viney's,  made  out,  in  my  bureau  drawer." 

Cole  touched  his  forehead.  "  I  was  aweer  dey  was  dravved  out 
accepable,  M's  Garrick,  However,  it  might  have  been  safer  like 
if  dey  wos  in  our  hands.  We'd  hev  been  here  all  de  same  of  de 
day  of  your  return." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  43 

"  Aunt  Laura  has  charge  of  them.  Bring  me  a  light."  As  he  lit 
a  cigar,  the  blacksmith  stood,  passing  his  stumpy,  yellow  finger* 
over  the  young  man's  leg,  smoothing  down  the  trousers.  Randolph 
stooped  suddenly,  looking  into  the  old  man's  face.  His  own 
changed. 

"  Why,  Cole  !  You  are  not  making  a  woman  of  yourself  over 
me?" 

The  negro  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  standing  up  stiffly 
"  No,  sah  !  But  I  nussed  you,  if  you  remember." 

Garrick  paused  a  moment ;  then  he  nervously  straightened  his 
hat  and  drew  the  bridle ;  holding  out  his  hand, "  Well,  good-by 
uncle,"  with  an  altered  voice. 

The  old  man  gave  him  his  blessing,  in  a  whisper  at  first,  then  as 
he  cantered  off,  rising  into  a  class-leading  voice,  so  loud  as  to  bring 
Miss  Conrad  to  an  open  window  beside  him.  Cole  improved  his 
chance  of  an  audience.  "He's  gone  down  into  de  plains  of  de 
great  battle,"  swinging  his  hand  toward  the  dusky  horizon  line  at 
the  north,  and  uttering  the  words  in  a  shrill  drone.  "  He's  gone 
whar  de  smell  of  his  brother's  blood  shell  sicken  his  heart,  and  his 
horse  shell  tramp  among  de  slain  of  his  people.  But  de  young 
man's  eyes  is  blinded.  He  knows  it  is  God  a  treadin'  out  de  wine 
press  of  his  wrath,  but  he  forgetteth  de  cause." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Cole,  what  is  the  cause  ?  " 

Margaret's  cool,  amused  smile  sobered  him.  He  dropped  the 
nasal  twang,  held  up  his  old  fur  cap  to  his  face,  eyeing  her  shrewdly 
over  it,  as  if  doubtful  how  far  to  venture.  "  What  am  de  cause 
why  de  rivers  yander  run  wid  blood,  and  de  whole  earth  groan  and 
am  not  quiet  ?  In  de  meetin'  our  people  asks  dat  of  me.  But  I 
cannot  tell.  Dere  is  dem  dat  say " — the  dull,  black  eye  laid  mo 
tionless  on  hers — "day  say  Tarn  de  cause,  an  my  wife — not  Viney, 
but  de  one  I  lef  on  a  Georgy  rice-field — she  am  de  cause,  an  my 
boy,  Pont,  who  was  hunted  wid  dogs  in  de  swamp  down  dar,  he 
am  de  cause." 

Miss  Conrad's  face  hardened,  and  she  looked  through  the  man  as 
though  nothing  interposed  between  her  and  the  moonlight;  the 
keen  physical  disgust  in  her  blood  to  the  black  skin,  as  plain  to  his 
instinct,  as  if  it  had  showed  (which  it  did  not)  on  her  face. 

"  As  if,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  figure  of  his  master,  cut  clear 
against  the  sky  as  his  horse  rose  on  the  hill-road,  "  as  if  God  would 
bring  countless  young  heads  like  that  to  the  dust,  that  you  might 
leave  your  corn  and  pork  here,  and  starve  in  a  Northern  city ! " 

"  You've  seen  de  cullored  people  up  dar,"  said  Cole,  breathlessly, 
not  heeding  her  words.  "  I  would  like  to  see  what  freedom  does 
for  dem,  Miss  Marget." 

"  It  does  nothing  for  them,"  carelessly,  remembering  to  whom  she 
was  speaking.  "  There  are  few  of  them  like  you,  Uncle  Cole — you* 


44  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

people.  They  are  like  Mose.  He  does  light  work  here ;  he  shaves 
beards,  or  whitewashes  walls,  or  steals ;  he  does  the  same  in  Phila 
delphia.  He  is  thick-Mpped  and  thriftless  and  affectionate,  go  where 
he  will ;  only  in  the  South  they  hunt  him  with  dogs,  and  in  the 
North  they  calculate  how  many  years  of  competition  with  the  white 
race  it  will  need  to  sweep  him  and  his  like  off  of  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

"  Tank  you,  Miss  Marget.  Mose  was  allers  a  drefful  lazy  nig 
ger  ; "  and  Cole  put  on  his  cap  over  his  bewildered  face,  and  sham 
bled  'off  to  the  kitchen. 

Miss  Conrad  looked  after  the  broad,  squat  figure.  "  I  let  him  feel 
the  bit,"  she  said,  laughing  to  herself.  "  Cole  was  beginning  to 
fancy  himself  one  of  God's  people  going  out  from  Egypt,  and  Gar- 
rick's  cattle  would  have  suffered  the  loss."  As  she  stood  listening 
to  the  beat  of  Randolph's  horse's  hoofs  on  the  far  road,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  Death  was  coming  into  almost  every  household  in  the 
land,  as  in  the  days  of  Pharaoh.  Could  it  be  in  order  that  this 
thick-lipped,  thriftless,  good-hearted  Mose  should  go  free?  The 
horse's  feet  echoed  dully,  going  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill, 
carrying  his  rider  into  the  plain  of  the  great  battle,  as  Cole  called 
it,  justly  enough.  "And  blood  like  his  is  to  pay  their  ransom?  If 
God  does  not  make  better  use  of  Mose,  free,  than  slave,  He  will 
have  been  a  bad  economist  of  the  world's  strength,"  she  thought. 

The  last  echo  died  faintly ;  she  closed  the  window,  and  the  farm 
house  and  sleeping  fields  were  left  in  the  night  and  silence ;  beyond 
the  hill  a  grave,  heavily-built  man  on  horseback  made  his  .way  cau 
tiously,  through  thickets  of  scrub-oak,  where  sudden  danger  lurked 
past  the  slopes  where  glittered  the  white  tents  of  the  outposts  of 
Zollicoffer's  army. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HUNTED     DOWN. 

ONE  damp,  drizzly  evening  in  November,  a  lumbering  old  family 
carriage  was  drawn  up  on  the  muddy  bank  of  a  little  hill  creek  in 
Marion  county.  The  mulatto  boy  who  drove  it  had  watered  the 
horses,  and  climbing  up  under  shelter  again,  sat  snugly  wrapped  in 
a  man's  gum  overcoat,  peering  out  at  the  dreary,  darkening  even- 
v  ing ;  the  muddy  sheet  of  water  in  front,  swollen  with  the  Fall  rains ; 
the  low  hill  on  the  opposite  bank  overgrown  with  pawpaw  and 
haw-bushes.  It  was  a  lonely,  untravelled  road ;  nothing  of  life  was 
in  sight  but  a  rusty  blackbird,  that  flew  with  a  hoarse  call  over  his 
head,  and  left  him  alone  in  the  darkness.  Pitt  whistled  shrilly  and 
began  to  tug  at  the  reins  for  a  start,  when  a  motion  in  the  weeds  on 
the  opposite  shore  caught  his  rolling  eyes.  He  stopped  a  moment, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  45 

then  the  whistle  grew  louder,  and  he  squatted  clown,  tying  his 
shoes,  watching  the  bushes  from  under  the  shadow  of  his  hat. 
Presently  he  saw  a  w^hite  man,  dressed  only  in  muddy  trousers  and 
flannel  shirt,  his  hair  and  beard  ragged  and  uncombed,  raise  himself 
rautiously  from  behind  the  rock  where  he  lay,  listening,  with  his 
ear  to  the  ground. 

Pitt  bent  his  own  head ;  he  fancied  he  could  hear  the  beat  of 
men's  feet  heavy  in  the  soggy  mud ;  they  were  on  the  other  side  of 
the  scrub-grown  hill,  coming  closer  rapidly.  The  boy's  whistle 
continued  shrill  and  even ;  he  lazily  scraped  the  lumps  of  mud  from 
the  apron  of  the  carriage,  his  eyes  contracting  like  a  cat's  on  the 
watch. 

This  was  in  November,  1861  ;  the  month  when  North  and  South 
met  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  to  force  her  sham  of  neutrality  from 
Kentucky.  Their  forces  grappled  each  other  in  every  county  of  the 
State,  while  the  Kentuckians,  compelled  to  take  sides,  stood  defiant, 
suspicious  of  each  other ;  had  not  many  a  man  found  an  enemy  in 
his  brother  or  son,  or  an  assassin  in  his  neighbor  ?  About  the  fire 
side,  or  at  the  family  table,  there  was  a  chill  of  rancor  in  the  air, 
more  terrible  than  the  heat  of  any  battle.  The  keen  sense  of  dan 
ger  in  all  the  border  States  made  the  atmosphere  electric ;  the  very 
children  stood  on  guard ;  this  mulatto,  a  dull  drudge  about  the  sta 
bles,  before  the  war,  took  the  life  of  the  man  yonder  in  his  hand 
at  an  instant's  challenge — cool,  alert,  cautious.  There  was  not  a 
breath  of  time  to  lose;  the  man  crept  to  the  bank  feebly,  while  the 
steps  behind  him  were  both  heavy  and  swift. 

"  Dem  is  Drigg's  men ;  dey  show  no  quarter,  an'  he's  nigh  run 
down ; "  while  he  scraped  on  at  the  mud,  giving  a  quick,  furtive 
sign  to  the  man  to  take  to  the  water,  and  indicating  the  course  of 
the  current  by  a  swiftly-aimed  bit  of  clay.  "  Dar's  but  one  chance," 
drawing  his  breath  sharply  as  he  whistled.  On  this  side  of  the 
creek,  one  or  two  miles  inland,  were  the  pickets  thrown  out  by 
Thomas,  then  at  Lebanon.  On  this  side,  he  would  be  safe.  But  to 
reach  it  ?  He  had  plunged  into  the  muddy  river ;  only  his  face  and 
hands,  as  he  swam,  were  visible ;  but  the  boy's  eyes  were  sharp. 
"He's  starving.  They've  run  him  hard.  He'll  not  make  shore." 
The  current  was  not  deep,  barely  neck  high,  but,  in  the  middle, 
strong.  "He'll  not  make  shore,"  seeing  how  it  sucked  him  in,  and 
that  his  strokes  were  ineffectual. 

The  men's  voices  could  be  heard  coming  round  the  bend ;  there 
were  half  a  dozen  of  them,  laughing  and  cursing  the  mud.  The 
thicket  detained  them  a  moment,  two  being  mounted.  There  was 
yet  half  of  the  width  of  the  creek  to  cross,  the  man  struggling  in 
the  current.  The  yellow  water  curdled  thick  in  rings  away  from 
him  ;  the  drizzling  mist  which  had  been  falling  cleared  off,  leaving 
him  barely  within  their  guns'  range. 


46  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  whistle  came  out  of  Pitt's  dry  mouth  in  one  or  two  thin 
gasps,  then  stopped. 

"  Gor-a-mighty  !  he'll  not  make  the  shore  !  "  he  cried. 

The  silence  lasted  long  after  that.     The  thin  face,  with  its  drag 
gled  hair,  set  jaws  and  staring  eyes,  but  slowly  worked  its  way 
toward  the  bank,  while  fast  and  faster  the  steps  hurried  behind. 
Through  all,  he  held  something  clenched  in  his  left  hand  as  h 
swam. 

"  What  kin  the  man  set  agin  his  life  ?  "  Pitt,  down  on  his  kneea 
in  the  mud  with  a  log  pushed  out,  snarled  to  him  savagely  to  open 
his  fist,  and  give  himself  headway,  but  Garrick  smiled  coolly.  In 
the  two  weeks  in  which  he  had  been  dogged  for  his  life,  hungry,  with 
frozen  feet,  creeping  on  his  belly  through  thickets  beset  with  Zolli- 
coifer's  scouts,  this  bullet  in  his  hand  had  come  to  mean  duty ;  to 
mean  a  good,  high  deed  for  the  world's  help,  in  the  doing  of  which 
his  life  was  a  paltry  thing  to  sacrifice.  He  had  grown  morbid  about 
it,  perhaps.  Yet  in  the  Kentucky  parlors,  with  a  bevy  of  common 
place  women  about  him,  he  had  always  been  a  grave,  diffident, 
reticent  man ;  now,  when  Death  had  him  by  the  throat,  he  smiled 
back  gayly,  brain  and  blood  on  flame  with  a  new  fire,  the  very 
essence  of  youth,  freshly  come  to  him. 

He  had  almost  gained  the  shore ;  the  end  of  the  log  floated  within 
his  reach.  He  threw  himself  forward,  missed  it,  and  sank. 

Pitt  crept  out  on  it  cautiously,  and,  lying  flat,  thrust  out  his  hand. 
Garrick  caught  it.  He  could  hear  the  rustling  of  the  dead  leaves 
on  the  opposite  bank,  the  men  were  so  close  upon  him. 

The  icy  water  drove  him  back,  lapping  his  legs  and  chest ;  the 
thick  mud  choking  and  blinding  him,  when,  with  all  his  gathered 
strength,  he  fought  for  footing  on  the  shelving  bank. 

Death,  was  it  ? 

He  was  on  flame,  possessed,  shaken  with  that  fierce  animal  cour 
age  which  maddens  men  in  the  thick  of  battle ;  yet  with  it  there 
was  the  vague  consciousness  that  it  was  not  his  pursuers,  nor  the 
clammy  current  that  he  grappled  with,  but  that  treacherous  thing 
whose  dull  weapons  they  were.  A  struggle,  wrenching  the  breath 
from  him,  a  leap,  a  yell  of  triumph,  which  died,  fortunately,  silent 
in  his  exhausted  lungs,  and  then  he  dragged  himself  slowly  on  shore 
at  the  mulatto's  feet,  among  the  weeds  and  slime.  He  pulled  up 
his  knees,  clasping  his  hands  about  them;  the  bullet  rubbed  rough 
in  his  shut  palm ;  the  face  of  the  Yankee  mechanic,  dead,  y  onder, 
in  the  drift- way,  rose  plain  before  him.  "  I  said  I  would  do  his 
work  for  him,  and  I've  done  it,"  muttered  the  Kentucky  gentleman. 

Pitt  threw  his  rubber  coat  about  him,  his  teeth  chattering  with 
excitement.  "  Gor-a-mighty,  get  up  wid  ye.  Drive  de  wagon  up 
to  de  house  yonder.  Don't  mind  me.  Dis  nigger'll  be  safe  enufF!  " 

Garrick  rose,  stiffly,  pausing  a  moment  to  consider. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  47 

"  Git  in !  "  whispered  Pitt.  "  They're  goin'  to  cross.  Yere  risk- 
in'  my  life  and  your'n.  In,  I  tell  you." 

Garrick  mounted  into  the  lad's  place.  Pitt  stooped  down  to  the 
muddy  shore,  breaking  out  again  into  his  breathless  whistle,  as 
the  old  carriage  began  to  go  slowly  up  the  road. 

Garrick  ventured  to  look  out  when  he  had  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill.  In  the  fog,  creek,  and  fields,  and  sky  were  buried  under  one 
dull,  colorless  hue,  the  air  itself  swathing  them  down,  muddy  and 
wet.  One  or  two  lights  began  to  twinkle  in  houses  far  beyond  the 
line  which  had  seemed  to  him  to  mark  the  horizon.  He  waited  to 
see  if  the  boy  was  safe. 

The  men  on  horseback  had  crossed,  and  were  coming  toward 
him.  Their  questions,  between  oaths,  and  the  fog,  failed  to  reach 
Randolph.  Pitt's  shrill  treble  was  purposely  pitched  high. 

"  What  am  I  'bout  ?  "  lazily,  "  eels,  I  reckon,"  straightening  him 
self,  with  his  hand  to  his  back. 

"  Anybody  cross  hyur  ?  No,  I  didn't  see  anybody  cross  hyur. 
Who  was  it  ?  Par's  no  ford  hyur ;  dar's  de  ford,"  pointing  about 
half  a  mile  up  the  creek.  "  I  see  a  man  skulking  up  dar." 

"  When  ?  "     The  men  reined  up  their  horses,  irresolute. 

"Half  an  hour  back,  's  likely." 

"  If  the  cussed  spy  kept  to  the  other  side,  Williams  had  him 
when  he  reached  the  ford.  We'll  beat  the  bush  up.  It  will  be  but 
ten  minutes'  work.  We  kin  come  back  and  try,  if  the  nigger's 
lying." 

He  had  only  a  moment  of  respite,  then. 

The  old  horses  jogged  on  heavily ;  one  stopped  to  cough,  and 
shake  its  steaming  sides,  when  his  life  lay  on  each  movement  of  its 
soggy  feet !  He  could  meet  death  in  the  river,  but  to  be  hung  for 
a  spy  like  a  dog  ? 

Life — actual  man's  life,  which  he  was  beginning  to  know  in  the 
strain  and  danger  of  these  two  weeks  was  drawn  back  from  him. 
Starving  and  half-frozen  as  he  had  been  through  this  adventure  of 
his,  it  had  dawned  on  him  with  a  splendor  of  possibility  which  his 
boyish  dreams  even  had  never  reached. 

His  nerves  shook  with  fever;  then  with  cold;  a  white  flash  of 
'light  filled  the  air.  To  be  choked  here  by  these  ruffians  ?  left  dead 
like  a  rat  in  this  mud  ?  He  let  fall  the  reins,  and  opened  and  shut 
his  hands,  like  a  nervous  woman.  There  was  a  stricture  like  an 
iron  band  about  his  throat,  his  wrists,  his  eyebrows.  He  looked 
after  the  group  of  dark  figures  disappearing  in  the  mist.  They 
would  presently  hem  him  in,  trample  out  his  soul  from  his  body> 
as  easily  as  that  of  a  lizard  under  their  heels. 

His  blood  dilated,  every  nerve  stung  him.  If  he  could  lay  his 
hand  on  them?  He  had  strength  to  crush  them  into  hell. 

There  was  no  cool,  gritty  endurance  in   Randolph's  courage ;  as 


48  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

he  looked  out  of  the  fold  of  Pitt's  great  coat  down  at  the  creek  "bank 
and  the  men  upon  his  trail,  between  love  of  life,  and  a  fierce  thirst 
for  their  blood,  his  face  was  gaunt  and  strained,  and  his  eyes  dull, 
as  those  of  a  man  who  has  held  down  his  passion  too  long. 

Miss  Conrad  would  have  said  the  shell  was  only  breaking  off 
which  had  crusted  over  him  in  the  old  college  library,  from  which 
he  had  been  dragged,  and  that  a  few  more  touches  of  the  knife 
would  bring  all  that  was  in  him  of  good  or  ill  to  the  light. 

The  knife  cut  roughly  and  deep ;  if  some  traits  and  lines  which 
only  God  had  seen  before,  yawned  sudden  and  black  on  the  sur 
face,  it  only  proved  that  the  chivalric  gentleman  bore  a  subtle  kin 
ship  to  us  all  beneath  all  difference  of  blood  or  color.  They  were 
not  vicious  traits ;  mean,  only.  Wrath  against  God  even  in  that 
instant  of  supreme  danger,  for  suffering  his  life  to  be  so  ignobly 
wasted  ;  his  life.  The  Randolph  blood,  his  culture,  his  dainty,  fas 
tidious  youth,  the  delicate,  refined  world  of  ideas  he  had  made  for 
himself — to  be  crushed  out  of  life  by  men  made  in  the  image  of 
brutes  !  The  impregnable  conceit  of  the  man,  his  steely  confidence 
in  himself  and  his  race,  never  were  so  bare  or  shameless  as  in  that 
moment. 

The  horses  stopped  suddenly  in  front  of  a  red  brick  house  which 
stood  back  from  the  road,  in  a  square  acre  lot  full  of  withered  beet 
and  tomato  beds,  and  decaying  rows  of  hollyhocks  and  German 
asters;  house  and  garden,  wet,  gray  and  desolate  in  the  dark, 
driving  mist.  The  house  door  opened,  and  two  women,  cloaked 
and  hooded,  came  down  the  path,  the  slighter  and  taller  of  the 
two,  in  advance,  with  a  light,  firm  step.  She  came  to  the  wheel  of 
the  carriage,  and  tapped  on  the  mountings ;  the  white  fingers  were 
quick,  decisive,  the  voice  quiet,  authoritative. 

"  Are  you  able  to  drive  to  Lebanon  ?" 

The  voice  steadied  Garrick  back  to  his  old  self.  "I  will  not 
drive  to  Lebanon.  It  is  not  your  mulatto,"  pushing  back  his  dis 
guise.  "  I  did  not  know  there  were  women  to  be  brought  into 
trouble  when  I  took  his  place,"  trying  to  pass  her. 

She  put  him  back  with  a  sharp  gesture.  "  There  is  no  time  to 
lose.  I  saw  it  all  from  the  window  yonder.  Silence !  "  turning  to 
open  the  gate  again  for  the  lady  who  came  feebly  down  the  path. 
"  She  is  old  and  weak.  She  must  know  nothing." 

Garrick  threw  down  the  reins,  pushing  her  aside  roughly.  "  I 
did  not  know  there  were  women.  Am  I  sunk  to  that — that  I 
would  hide  behind  a  woman's  skirts  ?  You  shall  not  risk  it.  If 
this  is  to  be  the  end,  let  it  be  the  end." 

She  turned  with  a  childish,  angry  click  of  her  teeth.  "  Are  you 
mad  ?  In  ten  minutes  the  men  will  be  upon  us.  I  risk  nothing. 
Be  quiet  and  drive  swiftly ;  leave  the  rest  to  me.  We  have  passes. 
I  risk  nothing." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  49 

"  You  do  not  know  me.     Those  ruffians  called  me  a  spy." 

"What  does  it  matter?  I  know  that  nothing  can  save  you,  if  I 
do  not.  Those  are  DriggAs  men."  Her  voice  broke  as  if  from  sud 
den  womanish  terror;  but  when  she  turned  to  assist  her  companion 
into  the  carriage,  it  was  again  clear  and  courageous. 

Randolph  paused,  his  foot  on  the  wheel.  It  was  his  only 
chance. 

"  I  risk  nothing,"  she  whispered,  putting  him  back  gently,  after 
Bhe  had  closed  the  door.  Then  she  sprang  up  to  the  seat  behind 
him. 

"  Thee  must  drive  quickly,  Pitt,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Turn  to  the  right ;  the  road  is  straight  and  level,"  interposed 
the  girl's  distinct  tones.  "There  are  but  two  miles  between  here 
and  the  Federal  lines."  Presently,  she  slipped  a  flask  in  his  hand, 
which  he  found  contained  brandy. 

It  was  like  an  intolerable  nightmare  upon  him ;  the  beating  rain, 
the  silence,  the  uneven  black  lines  of  fence  wavering  at  either  side 
as  they  passed,  the  gray  strip  of  road  in  front,  along  which  the 
horses  jogged  slowly  ;  the  death  hurrying  up  behind.  The  liquor 
warmed  his  half-frozen  body.  He  was  conscious  of  something  be 
side  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs,  which  began  now  to  dully  echo  far 
behind;  he  began  to  remember  that  the  bullet  was  still  clenched  in 
his  hand  ;  that  he  was  wet,  stiff,  miserable,  that — he  was  a  coward. 
To  sit  there  and  let  this  woman  save  him  ?  Did  .she  risk  her  own 
life  ?  Who  was  she  ? 

With  the  tramp  of  the  horses  gaining  on  them  every  moment, 
keen  curiosity  about  the  woman  began  to  work  in  his  brain,  to 
quicken  his  eyesight  and  hearing.  Her  motions  and  voice  gave  him 
an  odd  impression  about  her,  for  Randolph  was  susceptible  to  all 
solitary,  morbid  fancies.  Through  the  night  and  danger  she 
seemed  to  carry  all  youth  and  freshness ;  her  voice  might  have 
belonged  to  good  fortune,  itself,  it  was  so  cheery,  strong  and 
sweet. 

Was  she  good  fortune  ?     He  was  apt  to  search   for  omens. 

There  was  a  light  broadly  streaming  across  the  road  from  a 
toll-house  window ;  he  would  see  her  there  ;  if  her  face  was  what 
he  had  fancied,  he  would  take  it  as  a  promise — a  prophecy  of  safety 
and  honor,  and  success.  This,  while  his  own  horses  flagged,  and 
those  of  his  pursuers  came  closer.  But  Garrick  was  a  man,  and 
young. 

The  toll-house  was  reached,  and  while  the  keeper  unbarred  the 
gate,  the  light  of  his  lantern  fell  on  the  black  hood  of  her  cloak  ; 
he  could  only  catch  beneath  it  the  glimmer  of  yellow  hair,  and  a 
curious  contrast  of  soft  brown  eyes;  then  she  pushed  the  hood 
aside,  and  looked  at  him ;  he  saw  the  face  full  in  the  light.  He  had 
looked  at  many  beautiful  women  before,  unmoved,  but  now,  he  bent 
4 


50 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 


f 


forward  with  a  deep  breath ;  a  shiver  passed  over  him  as  of  exquisite 
pleasure  or  pain.  The  girl  smiled  ;  the  face  bent  out  of  the  darkness 
beside  her,  with  lips  apart.  A  fastidious,  delicate  face,  in  spite  of  the 
mat  about  it  of  ragged  beard  and  hair;  blue  eyes  which  were  better 
fitted  to  express  rare  morbid  shades  of  feeling  than  intellect.  His 
lips  moved, rather  than  spoke.  "I  had  a  strange  fancy  about  you. 
Who  are  you  ?  "  A  curious,  hard  expression  passed  over  her  face. 
"  You  may  call  me — Rosslyn  Burley." 

There  was  a  shout,  a  trampling  of  hoofs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
gate,  and  in  the  next  moment  the  carriage  was  surrounded,  and  a 
hand  laido  n  Randolph's  shoulder  dragged  the  cloak  from  off  his  face. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    DEAD    SCOUT'S    ENVOY. 

~^ts,  ACE  to  face  with  danger  in 
the  shape  of  one  man  or  a 
dozen,  Garrick's  blood  told. 
He  stepped  quietly  down 
among  them,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  pommel  of  the  leader's 
saddle,  saying: 

"  There  is  no  need  of  this 
hubbub  :  I  am  your  prisoner. 
The  ladies  must  pass.  I  give 
you  my  word,  they  are  not 
responsible  for  my  presence 
here.  They  must  pass." 

A  whisper  from  Rosslyn 
held  the  old  lady  in  check. 

"  A  light  here,  Grier."  The 
young  officer  stooped  from 
his  saddle,  while  the  toll- 
keeper  flashed  his  lantern 
over  the  tall  man,  wet,  in 
rags,  holding  himself  up  by 
the  saddle-bow,  his  breath 
mmmm^m^m^mmmmmmmmmi  coming  wjth  laborious  rattle 

through  his  lungs.  He  spoke  with  the  sharp,  disagreeable  tone 
common  to  him  when  with  his  inferiors. 

"The  carriage  must  go  on.  You  have  no  authority  to  detain 
these  women,  young  man." 

The  officer  raised  himself  again.  "  Who  is  this  fellow,  Friend 
Blanchard?"  turning  to  the  carriage  door.  "Your  boy,  Pitt,  is 
here  before  you.  I  came  to  meet  you,  fearing  you  had  been  im 
posed  upon.  There  is  as  much  chance  that  he  is  a  Rebel  spy  as 
one  of  our  own  scouts." 

The  old  lady  pulled  the  leather  curtain  apart,  enough  to  show  her 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  51 

wrinkled  face  with  a  delicate,  shrewd  smile  on  it.  If  it  had  been 
her  wedding,  or  her  death  day,  you  would  have  seen,  in  all  proba 
bility,  the  same  smile  of  keen-witted  good  temper. 

"  Thee  must  ask  Rosslyn,  Charles.  It  is  an  estray  belonging  to 
her  and  to  Pitt.  My  role,  I  saw,  was-  to  Jbe  blind  and  dumb." 

The  officer's  horse  moved.  Garrick  staggered  ;  grew  dizzy;  the 
pools  of  yellow  mud  at  his  feet,  the  night,  the  faces  about  him, 
became  unreal  as  a  dream.  He  stiffened  himself,  hearing  his  own 
voice  hoarse  and  far  off  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  among  friends,  then  ?  " 

"  You  are  within  the  Federal  lines." 

"  He  is  no  spy,"  said  the  cool,  careless  voice  inside  of  the  car 
riage.  "  Thee  must  be  a  bad  judge  of  stock,  Charles." 

"  What  rank  do  you  hold,  sir  ?"  Garrick  addressed  the  young 
officer  as  he  would  one  of  his  boys  at  school,  and  the  young  man 
answered  involuntarily,  as  promptly  as  if  he  were  one. 

"  I  am  Captain  Charles  Otey,  of  the  Twelfth  Kentucky,  serving 
at  present  on  Thomas'  staff." 

Garrick  looked  in  his  face  a  moment. 

"lean  trust  you,  I  think.  This  is  a  dispatch;  it  must  go  to 

Thomas  to-night.  I  wanted  to  end  my  work,  but "  While 

Otey  took  the  bullet  from  his  hand,  his  head  fell  against  the  horse's 
flank.  They  crowded  about  him. 

"  You  are  ill  ?  "     Otey  stooped  to  loosen  his  cravat. 

"  No.  They  pushed  me  hard,  though ;  and  I  have  eaten  nothing 
for  thirty- six  hours." 

Grier  and  the  men  hustled  together,  half  carrying  him  into  the 
toll-house.  At  the  door  he  looked  back  at  Rosslyn. 

Otey  rode  up  hurriedly  to  the  carriage,  the  bullet  close  in  his 
palm. 

"  I  must  push  on.  I  will  detail  a  guard  for  you,  Friend 
Blanchard.  Corporal ! "  The  little  red-headed  man  was  all  in  a 
tremor  of  excitement. 

"  We  must  look  after  our  estray,  Charles ;  we  will  stay  here," 
with  a  quizzical  glance  backward,  pushing  open  the  door.  "Thy 
spy  is  one  of  the  Page-Randolphs :  that  nose  is  unmistakable. 
Rosslyn  carried  the  witch-hazel  as  usual,  and,  as  usual,  found  the 
ore." 

Otey  curbed  his  mare  impatiently.  "  Grier  !  There  are  comfort 
able  rooms  here :  it  may  be  better  for  you  than  going  further  in  the 
rain.  But  you  are  mistaken  as  to  the  Page-Randolph  ;  I  happen  to 
know  this  dispatch  was  to  be  sent  by  Lieutenant  Smalley,  one  of 
Schoepf 's  men." 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy !  I've  detected  blood  that  I  knew  in  the  fifth  re 
move.  A  room  for  myself  and  Miss  Burley,  Mr.  Grier,  and  a  cup 
of  coffee,  I  know  thy  good  wife's  coffee.  And  tell  Mr.  Randolph 


52  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

I  will  be  glad  if  he  will  breakfast  with  us  in  the  morning,  if  he  is 
able." 

Otey  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  galloped  off.  Miss  Burley  men 
tally  shrugged  hers,  and  grew  hot  under  her  cloak  as  she  followed 
the  old  lady's  swift,  stately  steps  into  the  low  porch,  and  stood, 
afterward,  by  the  fire  inside,  waiting.  To  her  mind,  she  had  done 
enough  for  this  man,  be  he  Randolph  or  Smalley.  She  wanted  to 
go  on,  and  wash  her  hands  of  him. 

Ross  Burley,  every  day,  was  as  headlong  as  her  blundering  old 
grandfather  in  putting  out  her  hands  to  anybody  who  was  in  the 
mire ;  whether  man,  woman,  or  beast,  mattered  nothing  to  her. 
There  was  a  history  in  her  fresh  face.  Under  all  the  glamour  of  its 
loveliness  there  was  a  downright,  honest  look  in  it,  that  said, 
"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  No  one  can  need  help  as  I  once  did." 
If  she  could  se'rve  you,  her  mother  wit,  the  little  knowledge  for 
which  she  had  worked  so  hard,  her  tender,  delicate  body,  were  to 
her  only  so  much  machinery  for  work.  Until  you,  by  some  look 
like  that  of  Garrick's  to-night,  recognized  her  beauty  as  not  ma 
chinery.  That  lance  rung  challenge  on  her  woman's  shield ;  there 
was  not  an  atom  of  the  soft,  tinted  flesh  in  which  her  soul  lay  hid 
den  that  did  not  shrink,  jealous  and  indignant,  from  the  taint  of 
homage. 

It  may  have  been  some  subtle  remembrance  of  her  father  or 
mother's  story  that  added  this  morbid  pain  to  her  sense  of  maidenly 
reserve.  Standing  now  alone  in  the  dull  little  parlor,  she  wrapped 
the  cloak  nervously  closer  about  her.  She  caught  sight  of  her  face 
in  the  bleared  mantel  glass,  and  turned  sharply  away  to  hide  it. 
Fair  or  foul,  it  was  not  for  every  man's  eye  to  gloat  on ;  it  belonged 

to  herself  and .  As  she  bent,  looking  into  the  fire,  a  pink  flush 

stole  up  from  her  throat  over  the  face ;  the  brown  eyes  darkened  into 
a  dewy  splendor;  then  she  suddenly  stood  upright  with  a  smile, 
and  went  forward  to  the  opening  door,  shutting  doAvn  out  of  sight 
the  dres-M  for  which  she  herself  had  as  yet  no  name. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN,    AND    OUT    OF   THE   CURRENT. 

GARRIOK  RANDOLPH  woke  the  next  morning,  with  his  face  close 
011  the  square  uncurtained  window,  behind  which  a  chilly  red  dawn, 
unfolding  over  muddy  stubble  fields,  lay  like  a  picture  in  a  frame. 
There  was  a  gray  horse  tied  by  the  steps  outside;  there  were  voices 
in  the  inn  parlor,  off  which  his  chamber  lay,  and  a  glare  of  yellow 
candle-light  levelled  through  the  key-hole  and  under  the  door.  He 
sprang  out  of  bed,  and  began  to  dress,  his  muscles  as  supple  and  eyes 
as  bright  as  if  his  night's  heavy  sleep  had  been  a  dip  into  some  healing 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  53 

water.  His  money  had  been  strapped  in  a  leather  belt  under  hia 
shirt ;  with  some  of  it  Grier  had  bought  him  clean  and  whole  clothes  ; 
he  dressed  himself  carefully,  so  that  Otey,  who  had  not  looked  beyond 
his  arrogance  and  vagabond  wet  trousers  and  rags  the  night  before, 
stood  perplexed  when  a  quiet,  heavilybuilt  man,  in  a  decorous  suit  of 
brown  cheviot,  appeared  in  the  parlor.  Captain  Otey  held  his  hat  iu 
his  hand ;  his  boots  were  bespattered  with  mud ;  he  walked  impa 
tiently,  as  he  talked  to  Friend  Blanchard  and  Miss  Burley,  up  and 
down  the  room,  in  which  the  two  sickly  lights  of  candles  and  dawn 
struggled  together. 

"  I  have  ridden  hard,  Friend  Blanchard,"  addressing  the  Quaker 
ess,  who  sat,  her  finger-tips  crossed  over  her  dove-colored  dress. 
"  We  march  in  an  hour.  But  I  wished  to  tell  Lieutenant  Smalley 
myself  that  his  name  has  been  forwarded  for  promotion." 

A  queer,  perplexed  smile  crept  over  Garrick's  face  ,as  he  gravely 
bowed ;  but  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb.  He  had  won  this  re 
ward,  then,  for  the  dead  soldier  ?  It  was  his  first  live,  actual  work ; 
he  turned  this  pay  for  it  over  in  his  hand  as  a  boy  might  his  first 
prize  at  school ;  it  tasted  for  a  moment  like  a  morsel  of  sweet  manna 
on  his  tongue.  Then,  not  hearing  Captain  Otey's  fluent  praise  of  his 
bravery,  but  following  him  with  amused,  anxious  eyes,  "  I  did  not 
expect  promotion,"  he  said,  with  an  involuntary  gesture,  as  if  he 
took  something  in  his  hand.  "  It  is — cumbersome." 

He  looked  slowly  around  in  his  ordinary  staid,  grave  way :  the 
square  room  fixing  itself  in  his  memory,  sharp  and  defined  as  a 
photograph ;  the  glimmer  of  morning,  where  it  had  found  Rosslyn's 
head  rising  out  of  her  blue  drapery,  and  rested  there;  the  lithe, 
stately  figure  of  the  old  Quakeress — her  clear-cut  face,  with  its 
white  hair,  and  brilliant,  questioning  eyes  under  shaggy  black  brows, 
bent  forward  out  of  the  shadow ;  then  he  turned  to  the  little  captain, 
coining  up  to  him.  Otey's  was  a  peevish,  but  trusty  face.  Gar- 
rick  put  out  his  hand  to  detain  him. 

A  voice  like  the  tang,  tang  of  a  worn-out  guitar  broke  in :  "  Now, 
Lieutenant  Smalley  is  going  to  tell  thee,  Charles,  that  his  name  is 
Randolph,  and  that  his  mother  was  a  Page." 

"  Yes.  I  never  heard  the  name  of  Lieutenant  Smalley  until  this 
moment.  I  found  him  dead,  with  his  work  nearly  done ;  I  only 
finished  it.  I  claim  the  credit  and  reward  for  him ;  I  claim  the  pro 
motion  for  him  also.  You  must  help  me  in  this  matter,  Cap 
tain  Otey.  I  cannot  show  myself  in  the  camp  where  he  is  known. 
I  trust  it  to  you,  if  there  be  any  one  who  cares  for  him,  that  tftey 
know  that  he  did  good  service,  and  died  when  it  was  done.  I  trust 
to  you  to  keep  my  secret." 

Ross  drew  a  sudden  breath,  and  half  rose  to  her  feet ;  Abigail 
Blanchard  stroked  her  hands  softly  together  with  a  fine,  subtle 
smile ;  the  little  captain  shifted  his  cap  uneasily  from  one  hand  to 
another,  looking  up  perplexed  in  Garrick's  face. 


54  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Impossible,  sir,  impossible !  It  is  contrary  to  all  usage  or  law 
to  promote  a  dead  man,"  dogmatically.  "  You  wish  no  step  for 
yourself?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  service." 

"  Well,"  relaxing  his  sandy  brows  as  if  the  matter  imported 
nothing ;  "  it  is  no  affair  of  mine.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  might  have 
masqueraded  also.  But  I  will  do  what  you  wish.  It  is  a  trifle,' 
and  your  secret." 

"  No,  Rosslyn,  thee  need  not  frown ;  thee  shall  not  wrong  Charles 
Otey,"  when  he  was  gone.  "  There  is  a  gallant  soul  in  the  boy's 
little  body,  and  a  brain  full  of  sheer  common  sense.  But — Ach-h  ! 
Man  cannot  live  on  bread  alone ; "  as  she  rose  and  came  slowly 
toward  Garrick,  a  sweet  smile  on  the  aged  face,  and  a  curious 
brilliance  in  the  eyes.  She  stopped  in  front  of  him,  quite  silent  for 
a  moment,  then  held  out  her  hand,  saying : 

"  Last  night  I  thought  my  old  friend,  Coyle  Randolph,  had  left 
a  son :  now  I  know  it.  It  is  not  his  face  only  that  I  have  found 
again." 

Presently  they  sat  down  to  breakfast  together.  Garrick  was  at 
home  now,  and  possessed  his  soul  in  comfort,  breathing  his  native 
air.  His  training  and  habits  fitted  him  keenly  to  appreciate  this 
woman,  whom  he  had  long  known  by  tradition,  and  knew  to  have 
come  to  her  inheritance  of  beauty  and  esprit  in  the  days  of  Jefferson 
and  Burr;  a  grande  dame  in  that  keen-witted  circle,  but  who  was 
now  only  white-haired  Abigail  Blanchard,  misplacing  her  thees  and 
thous  with  a  piquant  stateliness.  The  simple,  subtle  grace  of  a  fine 
manner  remained,  as  the  delicate  aroma  with  the  dead  flower.  It 
made  the  morning  air  oif  from  the  muddy  fields,  gay,  as  well  as  fresh ; 
it  brought  out  all  that  was  heartsome  in  the  fire,  the  uncertain 
lights ;  it  gave  to  the  plain  little  breakfast  the  zest  of  a  picnic. 

He  looked  at  his  hands  as  he  broke  some  bread,  wondering  if 
they  were  the  same  that  had  dragged  him  through  the  slush  and 
mud  yesterday ;  mud,  and  frosted  feet,  and  nauseated  stomach  had 
sunk  out  of  existence  to-day — impossibilities  in  this  world  which  the 
light,  magic  touches  of  the  words  of  this  old  artist  of  society  had 
summoned  suddenly  about  him.  She  and  the  grave,  beautiful  girl 
opposite  to  him  lived,  he  soon  perceived,  in  an  atmosphere  of  which 
he  knew  nothing.  He  drew  his  breath  quickly  as  he  gathered  hint 
after  hint,  from  their  careless  conversation,  of  what  that  atmosphere 
was ;  differing  as  widely  from  the  bigoted  bonhommie  of  educated 
Virginian  life  as  Abigail  Blanchard — with  the  keen  insight  in  her 
liquid,  hazel  eyes,  with  the  unadorned  but  faultless  pink-tipped  hands 
resting  on  the  folds  of  her  Quaker  dress — did  from  Aunt  Laura, 
generous,  fussy  and  vain,  the  Page  jewels  still  glittering  on  her' 
wrinkled  breast  or  fingers ;  or  (and  then  the  professor  turned 
soberly  to  Rosslyn  as  to  a  new  problem  in  equations)  as  this 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  55 

girl — with  her  steady,  brown  eyes  and  sensitive  mouth — did  from 
the  mocking,  good-humored  young  women  with  whom  he  was  at 
once  contemptuous  and  awkward. 

Garrick's  plunge  into  coarse  pain  and  activity  from  the  heated 
ah*  of  his  long  seclusion  had  opened  his  mental  pores,  rendered  him 
keenly  susceptible  to  any  new  enthusiasm.  Ross  Burley  wondered 
to  see  the  broad-shouldered  man  who  sat  drinking  cup  after  cup  of 
strong  black  coffee,  opposite  to  her,  bend  forward,  his  dreamy,  blue 
eyes  kindling  like  a  child's  at  their  last  mention  of  their  home  life,  so 
commonplace  to  her.  But  to  the  women  he  had  known,  the  reality 
of  life  lay  in  the  circuit  of  their  county  town :  outside  of  that,  the 
world  was  but  a  map;  meaningless  to  them  except  for  their 
geographies.  This  girl's  education  had  been  different ;  wherever 
her  home  might  be,  the  air  in  it,  he  felt,  was  electric  with  energy; 
it  was  but  a  focus  from  which  opened  fields  of  work — fields  where 
help  was  needed.  There  was  no  dormant,  unused  power  in  her 
brain ;  her  companions  had  been  men  and  women  who  entered  the 
world  as  thorough-blooded  competitors  once  sprang  on  the  green, 
springy  turf  in  the  grand  old  games,  every  natural  strength  severely 
trained,  every  nerve  pulsing  with  keen  enjoyment;  life  itself  a 
stretch  before  them,  of  which  there  was  not  an  inch  but  should 
be  conquered  to  yield  to  them  its  profit  or  its  honor. 

What  if  he  went  with  them,  as  Friend  Blanchard  proposed,  gayly  ? 
He  had  cut  loose  from  all  ties.  Why  not  enter  the  service  as 
he  had  vaguely  purposed  ?  She  promised  him  a  commission  through 
the  influence  of  her  own  and  his  father's  friends.  If  he  had  a 
chance  to  breathe  the  stirring,  vital  air  in  which  they  had  lived,  it 
would  be  good  for  him,  in  soul  and  body.  With  all  his  self-satisfac 
tion,  he  was  uneasily  conscious  of  this. 

"  It  seems  to  me  an  altogether  feasible  plan,"' she  said,  as  she  ended 
her  proposal.  "We  have  been  in  Louisville  for  a  month.  I  had 
business  there,  and  I  brought  Miss  Burley  that  she  might  meet  a 
relative  in  the  army.  We  return  to  Philadelphia  at  once.  Thee 
must  weigh  the  matter,  and  decide,  Garrick." 

It  was  natural  for  Garrick  in  weighing  so  grave  a  matter  to  remain 
silent ;  besides,  he  had  no  mind  that  women  should  suppose  a  man 
altered  his  whole  course  of  life,  unguidedby  some  philosophic  monitor 
within.  So  he  sat,  playing  with  his  salt  spoon  with  knitted  brows, 
while  they  talked  to  each  other,  lingering  over  their  cups  as  women 
love  to  do.  He  began  to  analyze  the  causes  which  had  so  differently 
affected  society  in  the  South  and  the  North,  and  then  he  wondered 
how  long  it  would  take  a  bar  of  light,  which  shot  through  a  knot-hole 
in  the  shutter,  to  disentangle  itself  from  the  paly  gold  of  Rosslyn's 
hair.  He  waited  until  it  had  disentangled  itself,  then  he  wondered 
what  blood  she  had — the  Burleighs  of  Albany  ?  It  would  -need 
pure  birth  as  well  as  the  influences  under  which  she  had  lived  to 


56  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

give  her  delicate  head  that  poise  of  command,  or  to  bestow  the 
manner  simple  and  fin,  the  like  of  which  he  had  never  seen  before. 
He  was  a  connoisseur  in  address ;  this  bewildered,  mastered  him. 
A  princess  of  the  blood  among  her  peers  might  be  thus  gravely 
natural  and  unconscious,  but,  below  the  highest  rank,  women  must 
have  an  acquired  polish,  haughty  or  gracieuse,  by  which  to  '  assert 
themselves;  that  was  the  society  maxim. 

He  wondered  if  she  remembered  what  he  owed  to  her?  He 
would  tell  her  some  time  when  they  were  alone,  that  he  had  not  for 
gotten.  But  she  was  going  North — in  half  an  hour  would  be  gone. 
If  he  remained  behind,  they  never,  in  all  chance,  would  meet 
again. 

Having  spent  a  long  enough  time  at  his  deliberation,  he  looked 
up  with  his  boyish,  frank  smile — not  at  Miss  Burley. 

"You  have  prevailed,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  the 
Quakeress.  "  I  will  go.  Though  I  would  have  taken  up  arms  for 
the  Government  more  readily  if  they  had  not  invaded  my  State. 
But  the  Page-Randolphs  must,  as  always,  be  Tories  and  loyal." 

Friend  Blanchard  smiled,  looking  at  him  through  half-shut  eyes. 
"  Pardon  !  but  to  us  at  the  North  thy  contracted  motive  seems 
droll ! " 

The  professor  stood  erect.  "  We  differ,"  he  said,  nettled.  "To 
me  the  war  is  a  crime — beginning  in  misconception,  and  to  end  in 
ruin.  While  to  you — " 

Her  hand  moved  suddenly,  irresolutely,  and  trembled  as  she  ad 
justed  the  artistic  bands  of  white  hair  about  her  forehead,  but  her 
voice  was  cool  and  guarded.  "  It  is  something  different  to  us — to 
Rosslyn  and  me.  At  home  we  watch  the  regiments  march  past, 
day  after  day,  and  fancy  it  is  a  crusade,  on  which  they  go  to  recover 
something  better  than  a  sepulchre — liberty  for  the  slave." 

Randolph  laughed,  good-naturedly.  The  eternal,  miserable  negro ! 
So  precisely  a  woman's  puny  view,  he  thought,  of  a  great  political 
subversion  ! 

"  You  have  the  Northern  idea  of  slavery,"  he  said,  courteously. 

"  Yes."  She  unlocked  a  travelling  satchel  which  lay  on  the  floor, 
and  took  out  a  square  bit  of  paper  with  a  sketchy  drawing  on  it. 
"This  is  my  idea  of  it,  Garrick."  He  took  it  to  the  window.  It 
was  the  picture  of  an  office  in  a  Northern  city;  a  candle  flared  on. 
the  desk ;  through  the  window  shone  a  harvest  moon.  Two  or  three 
men  stood  about  a  packing-box,  on  the  floor,  with  chisels  in  their 
hands,  having  just  opened  it.  Half  of  the  lid  was  off.  Within  lay, 
bent  double,  the  figure  of  a  negro ;  an  old  and  white-haired  man  ; 
dead.  There  were  the  marks  of  the  branding-iron  on  his  forehead 
and  back  of  his  neck.  The  face  was  sketched  with  wonderful 
power ;  it  told  the  whole  history  of  a  man  who  had  starved  and 
toiled  to  the  end  of  the  long  voyage,  and  died  in  sight  of  land. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  57 

"  Trying  to  escape,  eh  ?  "  said  Garrick,  still  good-humoredly,  with 
the  knowledge  of  slavery  as  it  really  was,  typified  by  Cole  and  his 
twenty  other  fat,  lazy  negroes  at  home,  to  make  him  forbearing 
with  this  slander.  "  How  many  such  fictions  as  this  are  scattered 
like  fire-brands  through  the  land  ! " 

"But  this  is  true,"  said  Ross,  in  her  childlike,  earnest  way 
"  There  is  room  there,  you  see,  for  another  figure.  That  was  I." 

"  You  ?  You  saw  this  ?  "  Randolph  bent  over  the  paper,  the 
color  changing  on  his  face.  "  I  am  sorry  to  frame  you  even  in 
fancy,  Miss  Burley,  in  a  scene  like  this.  Some  Abolition  den, 
doubtless." 

"  My  grandfather's  office,"  she  said,  simply.  "  All  the  fugitives 
from  the  underground  railroad  came  there.  I  can  show  you  the 
place  when  you  come  to  Philadelphia,"  her  eyes  lighting,  as  if  she 
spoke  of  holy  ground.  "  I  used  to  wait,  always,  thinking  they  might 
need  a  woman's  help.  And  then — I  wanted  to  see  them  draw  their 
first  free  breath." 

Abigail  Blanchard  watched,  amused,  the  dumb  amazement  in 
Randolph's  face.  He  looked,  startled,  at  the  girl  from  head  to  foot, 
a  keener  sense  of  her  beauty  forcing  itself  on  him,  and  with  it,  the 
old  Southern  type  of  the  Yankee,  lank-legged,  long-haired,  witli 
coat-tail  flapping  between  his  legs  ;  the  very  man  they  would  barrel 
up  in  Vicksburg,  and  "  roll  into  the  Mississip,  on  suspicion  of  run 
ning  off  niggers." 

"  I  never  have  seen  an  Abolitionist  like  you,"  dryly. 

She  drew  down  her  brows  a  moment,  perplexed.  "  Almost  all 
Northerners,  now,  are  opposed  to  slavery.  But  they  have  not  seen 
it  as  I  have.  Why,"  looking  up  at  him,  her  voice  sinking  lower, 
"  negroes  have  come  to  that  oifice  from  every  State  in  the  South,  in 
every  disguise,  in  boxes,  in  bales,  alive  sometimes — sometimes  dead. 
They  have  come  maimed,  scarred;  with  wounds  that" — her  face 
grew  white,  and  her  brown  eyes  dilated  with  horror.  She  covered 
them,  shivering.  After  a  while  she  looked  up,  forcing  a  smile.  "  You 
will  think  us  fanatics,  Mr.  Randolph.  You  know  slavery  only 
through  your  own  kind  mastership,  perhaps.  But  I  have  had  the 
ugly  fact  in  my  hands — in  my  hands" — holding  them  out  as  if  to 
shake  some  clinging  stain  from  them. 

Garrick  only  noted  the  rose  flush  in  their  palms,  and  their  nerv 
ous,  slight  grace,  smiling  to  himself  at  words  which,  from  a  man, 
would  have  been  insult  and  cant.  Beauty,  after  all,  he  thought, 
was  that  magic  ointment  in  the  old  story,  which  made  gum  seem 
amber,  or  coal  a  diamond.  Then  he  looked  closer  at  the  paper. 

"You  did  this?" 

"  Yes,"  taking  it  gently  away.  "  But  don't  look  at  it.  Slave 
holders  such  as  you,  are  not  more  in  fault  than  we  in  the  North." 

Randolph's  thoughts  were  far  ofif  from  slaves  or  slaveholders. 


58  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

There  was  the  strength,  the  purpose,  the  passion  of  a  man  in  every 
vigorous  stroke  of  the  drawing.  He  held  it  a  moment,  before  giving 
it  to  her,  looking  keenly  at  the  pliable  mould  of  the  brow,  out  of 
which  the  eyes  looked  gentle  and  friendly,  at  the  sweet,  merry  con 
tour  of  the  mouth.  Yet — 

"  Who  knows  my  work,  knows  me,"  he  said  significantly. 

The  color,  which  came  and  went  unceasingly  on  Ross'  face,  to 
show  how  straight  her  words  came  with  it  from  her  heart,  drew  a 
sudden,  hot,  angry  veil  over  her  bent  forehead. 

"  You  are  right,  no  doubt,"  looking  up  in  her  simple,  grave  man 
ner.  "  Yet  the  work  is  all,  I  think,  which  the  world  has  a  right  to 
see ;  or,  to  judge ; "  and,  folding  up  the  paper,  she  went  directly 
away. 

Randolph  stood  uneasy,  uncertain  whether  she  meant  a  rebuke 
or  not.  He  did  not  see  her  again,  as  he  and  Friend  Blanchard  de 
termined  that  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  go  alone  to  Louisville. 
He  rode  over  to  Bardstown,  therefore,  and  from  thence  to  Louis 
ville,  waiting  for  them  there  a  couple  of  days. 

He  had  leisure  in  that  time  to  settle  back  into  his  old  costume ; 
rich,  brown  cloth,  fastidiously  quiet ;  with  which  the  rare  mud- 
colored  antique  on  his  large  white  hand,  harmonized  ;  he  found,  too, 
a  couple  of  bottles  of  genuine  Romano  Sherry,  and  a  1675  edition 
of  Dugdale's  "  Baronage,"  in  an  auction  room,  both  of  which  he 
stored  away  in  his  trunk,  as  pleased  with  his  luck  as  a  child. 

The  city  was  but  a  gate  then  through  which  the  Federal  troops 
were  pouring  into  Kentucky  and  Tennessee ;  regiments  of  muscular 
lumbermen  from  Maine :  Massachusetts  lawyers  and  doctors,  with 
spare,  watchful  faces :  stolid,  honest  Pennsylvania  Dutch :  loAvans, 
New  "5  orkers,  men  from  the  shores  of  the  great  lakes,  and  from  the 
prairies,  with  brawny  bodies  and  clear,  sensible  eyes,  swept  in  end 
less  procession  down  the  streets,  or  swarmed  on  the  boats  which 
floated  down  the  broad,  muddy  river.  It  was  his  first  glimpse  into 
the  great  seething  whirlpool.  The  tall,  broad-backed,  fine-coated 
professor,  with  his  irritable  mouth  and  gentle  blue  eyes,  and  his 
formal,  old-fashioned  courtesy,  was  pushed  to  the  curb -stone,  or  on 
the  quay,  by  men  alien  to  him  in  their  creed,  their  past  and  their 
future.  He  began  to  be  dully  conscious  of  a  mighty  current 
sweeping  by,  which  sucked  in  all  the  forces  of  the  air  and  of  life, 
while  he  lay,  a  bit  of  weed,  on  shore.  Whether  the  Page-Ran 
dolphs  were  tories  or  not  did  not  import  so  much,  after  all,  perhaps. 
He  blushed  a  little,  too,  as  he  thought  of  the  sherry,  and  his  Dug- 
dale,  as  he  might  have  done  had  he  been  detected  in  playing  with 
a  doll. 

Friend  Blanchard  came  at  last,  and  they  embarked  on  an  empty 
steamer  going  up  for  troops  to  Pittsburg. 

Ross  Burley  grew  pale  and  shy  when  he  came  near  her.     It  was 


'WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  59 

only  the  keen  curiosity  she  felt,  however.  His  manner  nad  a  repose 
in  it,  an  exaggerated  deference  to  women,  peculiarly  Southern,  but 
new  to  her ;  it  was  the  trait  of  a  hero,  doubtless.  She  relished, 
too,  his  risking  his  life  for  the  honor  of  another  man.  The  men 
she  knew  in  the  war  from  the  North  were  fighting  for  an  idea. 
Men  generally,  after  their  college  days,  cared  little  for  each  other 
personally  ;  they  kept  their  softer  emotions  for  women.  But  Ran 
dolph  would  have  died  for  a  stranger.  In  her  secret  soul  she  called 
him  Greatheart,  and  herself  and  Friend  Blanchard,  Mercy  and 
Christiana.  She  thought  how  they  were  going  now  through  that 
dark  valley  together,  which  lies  close  on  the  boundaries  of  hell. 
She  had  her  old  habit  of  making  stories  out  of  all  that  was  about 
her. 

To  Randolph,  the  death  about  them  was  not  so  terrible  as  the 
spasm  of  turmoil.  The  boat  floated  up  between  banks  of  desolated 
homesteads,  camps,  landings  heaped  with  army  stores.  In  the  night 
the  red  flames  of  burning  dwellings  or  villages  gave  a  ghastly  light 
over  the  frozen  fields ;  steamers  met  them  unceasingly,  with  wav 
ing  banners,  triumphant  music,  laden  to  the  water's  edge  with  men 
hurrying  to  the  battle-field  ;  other  boats  swept  silently  before  them, 
and  in  their  wake,  filled  with  gaunt-eyed  spectres  from  the  fever 
hospitals,  or  maimed  wrecks  of  men  going  home  to  die.  He  was  in 
the  current,  in  the  endless  unrest  and  action,  with  no  rudder  in  his 
hand. 

The  only  point  of  rest  was  Rosslyn.  He  watched  her,  but  sel 
dom  spoke.  She  was  as  a  quiet  Summer  day  in  the  midst  of  foul 
Winter.  The  invisible  circle  of  respect  and  homage,  too,  which 
Abigail  Blanchard's  old-school  etiquette  drew  about  the  young 
beauty  suited  his  chivalric  fancy. 

Rosslyn?  Rosslyn?  The  name  had  a  clean,  clear  ring  in  it 
which  became  her.  It  annoyed  him  that  Strebling  had  called 
some  huckster  whom  he  knew  by  the  same.  It  tainted  the  word. 
For  Strebling's  look,  even,  to  fall  on  a  woman  was,  in  Garrick'a 
nind,  to  leave  a  stain  upon  her. 

The  days  crept  on. 

Friend  Blanchard  grew  restless.  She  sat  in  the  mornings  on  the 
rounded  deck  of  the  boat,  watching  uneasily  Ross'  light,  blue-clad 
figure  down  among  the  women  of  the  deck  passengers,  or  Garrick, 
haughtily  alone,  in  his  solitary  walk  up  and  down  the  cabin.  There 
was  a  caustic,  sad  smile  on  her  face. 

"  His  brain  is  cobwebbed  with  as  many  musty  traditions  as 
Dugdale  itself,"  glancing  down  at  the  old  book  on  her  7ap. 

Yet  what  would  be  the  end  of  shutting  up  together  this  man 
and  woman,  young,  with  strong,  groping  instincts,  ambitious  pur 
poses?  On  a  boat,  too,  where  the  very  drifting, — drifting,  the  slow 
floating  out  of  night  into  dawn,  through  day  into  night,  would 


60  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

subtly  suggest  a  longer  and  a  closer  journey?  The  Quakeress' 
sincere  eyes  became  wells  of  anxious  trouble.  Ross  seemed  to  her 
always,  a  child,  whose  soul  she  had  in  keeping. 

"What  does  he  know  of  the  girl,  except  that  her  eyes  are  limpid 
and  her  hair  golden  in  the  sun  ?  There  is  antipathy  between  them, 
in  their  habits,  their  birth,  in  the  teaching  of  every  day  of  their 
lives.  God  set  them  apart,  in  the  hour  when  He  breathed  life  into 
their  nostrils.  If  they  form  a  marriage  on  the  basis  of  golden  hair 
and  tender  eyes,  they  will  find  the  truth — when  it  is  too  late." 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SURGEON. 

"  BUT,  my  dear  Miss  Conrad,  the  man  gambles  !  " 

"  That  is  probable." 

"  There  is  no  such  desperate  play  in  Philadelphia  as  at  Doctor 
Broderip's petit  soupers" 

"  But  the  suppers  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ottley  shrugged  her  faded  eyebrows.  "How  should  I 
know  ?  Women  are  barred  out.  They  are  too  tame  a  sauce  to  sea 
son  his  ragout.  The  suppers  are  perfection,  I  dare  say ;  I  have  the 
word  of  the  town  for  it.  The  town  keeps  its  eyes  on  him  and  his 
doings.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  am  annoyed  that  you  went  to 
him  so  openly.  If  you  had  employed  a  third  person — me,  for 
instance — " 

Miss  Conrad  placidly  buttoned  her  glove. 

"  He  is  a  scoffer  at  all  religion ;  he  never  enjoys  his  own  bitter 
wit  except  when  he  is  sneering  at  things  pure  and  holy."  The 
lady's  little  hands  were  lifted,  her  little  flounces  rustled  indignantly, 
and  her  faded  little  face  reddened.  Miss  Conrad  was  adjusting  her 
shawl  as  if  she  had  not  heard  her. 

"  Let  me  urge  you  not  to  go.     His  turf-horses — " 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Ottley,  I  carried  a  betting-book  to  a  course  when  I 
was  but  ten  years  old.  If  the  man  have  the  skill  in  his  fingers  for 
which  he  has  credit,  what  does  it  matter  to  me,  after  I  have  used  it, 
whether  he  throws  dice,  or  tinkles  a  guitar  with  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nobody  questions  his  skill.  It  is  scarcely  two  years  since 
he  came  here  from  New  York,  and  his  operations  have  been  won 
derful  as  miracles ;  but —  "  She  stopped. 

"  That  is  all  that  I  care  to  know." 

"  Nothing  of  the  quack  either,  Mr.  Ottley  says ;  he  rules  himself 
within  the  strictest  etiquette  of  the  profession.  But,"  she  low 
ered  her  voice,  "  what  do  you  say  of  a  man  who  refuses  to  practise 
when  the  whim  seizes  him  ?  who  will  turn  away  from  the  bedside 
of  a  wretched  cripple  with  a  coarse  joke  about  the  disease  being 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  61 

the  only  part  worth  scrutiny,  and  that  the  sooner  such  candles  were 
snuffed  out,  the  better  ?  Who  is  he,  to  give  life,  or  refuse  it,  accord 
ing  to  his  prejudice?" 

Miss  Conrad,  as  usual,  was  imperturbable. 

"  The  man,  as  a  man,  is  nothing  to  me.  I  have  put  great  hopes 
in  him  as  an  oculist.  It  is  so  long  since  this  film  has  been  growing 
in  Mr.  Conrad's  eyes — we  have  tried  so  many  different  physicians — 
I  had  hoped  that  this  Doctor  Broderip —  " 

Mrs.  Ottley  leaned  forward,  surprised  and  curious,  from  her  sofa. 
She  fancied  that  Margaret's  face  grew  paler,  talking  of  her  father, 
and  emotion  might  as  soon  be  looked  for  in  a  machine  of  wood. 

"  Dear  child !  dear  child  !  I  can  understand  what  a  loss  it  is  to 
you  both !  Though  your  father  is  no  longer  a  young  man ,  it  ia 
time  to  look  for  the  decay  of  his  faculties.  Let  me  see !  Mr.  Ottley 
first  knew  your  father  in  '39.  What  a  mercy,  my  dear  girl,  by 
the  way,  that  Mr.  Conrad  never  married  again  ?  " 

Miss  Conrad's  gray  eyes  were  cool  and  on  guard,  though  they 
never  turned  toward  her  hostess. 

"  How  can  I  tell  that  ?  "  with  a  dogged  simplicity. 

The  lady  changed  her  ground  quickly,  recovering  herself  with 
ease,  finding  her  foot  upon  her  native  heath  of  gossip. 

"  Mr.  Ottley  could  tell  you  tales  of  Doctor  Broderip's  extortion, 
if  he  pleased.  There  is  a  great  outcry  of  praise  about  his  free  hos 
pitals,  but  his  wealthy  patients  pay  for  them,  I  can  assure  you.  I 
have  heard  Mr.  Ottley  himself  tell  him  that  his  hands  were  as  merci 
less  as  the  devil's,  when  he  had  a  fat  fowl  to  pluck.  That  was  only  a 
man's  way  of  talking,  you  know,  my  dear.  But  he  only  returned 
one  of  his  grim,  cunning  smiles.  His  look  quite  makes  me  shudder. 
I  always  think — what  if  I  were  lying  mangled,  fastened  to  a  board, 
with  that  little,  hard,  cruel  face  over  me,  and  a  knife  in  his  hand. 
Did  not  it  quite  make  you  shudder,  Miss  Conrad  ?  " 

Margaret  paused  a  moment,  thinking.  "•!  believe  that  I  do  not 
remember  his  face  at  all,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  Our  interview  was 
very  short.  There  was  an  ante-room  full  of  patients  waiting,  and 
I  was  not  thinking  of  hie  looks.  I  was  anxious — " 

Again  the  sudden  stop,  and  this  time  Mrs.  Ottley  saw  her  put  hea 
hand  up  to  her  throat.  She  spoke  to  her,  but  Margaret  did  not 
answer. 

The  little  lady  fluttered  to  her  fernery  in  the  window,  turning 
her  back  that  she  might  not  see  the  girl's  distress.  "  Poor  child  !  " 
she  said,  under  her  breath. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  his  sight  left  him,"  Miss  Conrad  said,  con 
trolling  her  voice.  "  And  I  feel  as  if  to-day  would  be  the  decisive 
end  of  it  all.  It  will  all  be  decided  to-day." 

Mrs.  Ottley,  looking  back  at  her  furtively,  saw  her  head  bent,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 


62  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  had  not  thought,  Margaret,"  she  said,  gently,  "  how  much 
this  man's  opinion  would  matter  to  you,  or  I  would  not  have  retailed 
the  town  gossip  about  him." 

"  Yes,  it  does  matter.  One  physician  after  another  has  referred 
us  to  him  as  the  highest  authority  on  that  peculiar  disease ;  and. 
whatever  his  sentence  may  be,  I  will  accept  it  as  final.  If  we  could 
have  come  to  him  sooner —  But  Mr.  Conrad  had  heard  the  stories 
you  tell  of  his  extortion.  That  was  why  the  meeting  between  them 
had  to  be  managed,  even  now,  by  a  trick." 

"  I  understand." 

Miss  Conrad  looked  at  her  watch.  "  We  shall  be  late,"  she  said, 
going  to  the  door  opening  into  the  little  breakfast  room  where 
lunch  was  spread.  Her  father,  who  had  no  mind  to  be  cheated  out 
of  old  habits,  always  made  his  dinner  of  that  meal.  He  was 
munching  his  last  bit  of  cheese,  and  talking  vigorously  and  loudly 
to  Mr.  Ottley,  who  sat  playing  with  his  fork,  and  laughing.  The 
two  men  were  excellent  chums  together.  They  had  been  boys  in  a 
surveyor's  corps  together  on  the  western  frontier,  and  had  an  in 
exhaustible  fund  of  stories  in  common  about  Indian  hunts,  and 
mounds,  and  tricks.  They  had  just  finished  recalling  one  of  these 
reminiscences  of  unusually  strong  flavor,  when  Margaret  came  in, 
and  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  back  of  her  father's  chair. 

"  Mr.  Conrad  will  be  late,"  with  a  significant  look  to  her  host. 
"  Come,  Hugh,  dear." 

"  Yes,  Meg,  yes.  Well,  well !  "  with  a  gruff,  racy  chuckle,  "  I 
never  heard  that  story  before,  Ottley.  But  them  Chippewas  were 
genooine  snakes,  to  be  sure !  I've  had  considerable  insight  into 
human  nature,  and  I  always  said,  '  For  sheer  deviltry,  give  me  a 
red-skin ;  for  apple-jack  or  deviltry,  give  me  a  red-skin.' " 

"  It  is  half  education,"  said  Mr.  Ottley,  laying  down  his  napkin. 

"  Well — yes.  Now  there's  yourself,"  leaning  on  his  elbows  on 
the  table,  his  coarse,  high-featured  face  twinkling  with  humor. 
"  There  never  was  two  gawkier  boys  than  you  and  me,  Brooks ; 
we  was  rough-conditioned  throughout.  I  often  think  what  thirty 
years  has  done  to  us.  Here  are  you  ;  you've  got  a  dumpling,  con 
tented  little  body  in  a  snugly-feathered  nest,  and  all  that  you've 
learned  in  these  thirty  years  is  packed  safe  in  your  brain,  and  looking 
out  of  them  keen,  little  black  eyes  of  yours ;  you've  got  your 
operas,  and  your  old  portraits,  and  your  marbles.  And  here  am  I. 
Now  them  saplins  was  alike,  Ottley,  in  peth  and  rind.  It's  the  sile 
that  has  altered  them — it's  only  the  sile." 

"  It  was  a  strong,  marly  soil,  then,  that  gave  you  your  pith, 
Hugh,"  said  Ottley,  suddenly,  with  an  admiring  look  at  the  old 
man's  rough-hewn  face.  Margaret  nodded  over  her  father's  head 
to  him,  quick  and  pleased,  a  blush  coming  up  through  her  thick, 
white  skin,  which  no  lover's  words  had  ever  been  able  to  stir  there. 


WAITING  FOU  THE  VERDICT.  63 

But  the  old  Methodist,  fluent  enough  to  talk  of  others,  was  modest 
as  a  girl  about  himself. 

"  Yes,  I'm  tough,"  dryly.  "  We're  a  long-lived  stock.  There 
was  my  father  and  his  four  brothers,  now.  They  lived  until  the 
sap  dried  up  in  them ;  they  used  to  Imind  me  of  wood  hardened 
into  iron,  them  men.  As  for  their  opinions — well,  the  idees  they 
got  from  their  mother  along  with  their  bones,  them  they  died  with, 
unaltered.  I  couldn't  fancy  them  men  mouldering,  even  in  their 
coffins." 

"  I  shouldn't  call  you  an  obstinate  man,  Conrad,"  as  they  pushed 
their  chairs  back,  and  got  up. 

"  I  don't  know.  My  mother's  blood  might  tell  in  me.  The  Ran 
dalls  were  all  loose-j'inted.  But  Meg  here,  now,  she's  her  grand 
father  through  and  through.  Meg's  pethy." 

She  began  to  adjust  the  wisps  of  gray  hair  on  either  side  of  hi? 
face,  and  retied  his  cravat,  managing  to  reach  it  with  ease,  as  she  was 
a  tall  woman,  and  he,  short  and  broadly  built. 

"  She's  putting  on  the  halter,  you  see,  Brooks.  I  intended  to  go 
down  to  court  with  you,  but  she  has  heard  of  a  bidder  for  that 
tract  near  Dubuque,  and  made  an  appointment  for  me  with  him  this 
afternoon." 

Mr.  Ottley's  fat,  good-humored  face  grew  anxious. 

"  I  must  hear  the  result,  Miss  Conrad,"  meaningly.  "  You  will 
come  back  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  no  moment.  I  don't  care  to  sell.  Eh  !  What 
are  you  doing,  child  ?  "  as  she  drew  off  the  spectacles  that  concealed 
his  half-closed  eyes,  and  put  them  in  their  case. 

"  I  like  it  best  so,  Hugh.     Let  me  have  my  way." 

His  whole  face  had  contracted  painfully.  "  You  shall  have  your 
way,  Margaret,  always.  But  I  wanted  them  hid  ;  I  did  not  wish 
to  be  an  object  of  loathing  to  the  passers-by,"  in  an  undertone. 
She  turned  sharply,  and  laid  the  palms  of  her  hands  on  the  sight 
less  eyes.  This  very  slight  gesture  from  the  stoical  woman  touched 
Ottley  to  the  heart :  it  was  as  if  she  gathered  the  rough,  helpless 
man  into  her  very  soul ;  put  herself  forever  between  him  and  all 
hurt.  Conrad  noticed  it  only  by  a  change  in  color. 

"  You  must  not  go  out  to  your  little  lodge,  to-night,"  urged 
Ottley.  "  There  are  two  or  three  men  coming  to  dine  with  us 
whom  I  wish  you  to  meet,  Conrad,"  thinking  that  they  might  rel 
ish,  as  he  did,  the  old  preacher's  stories,  as  they  would  a  mouthful 
of  heavy  tart  cider  among  dry,  light  wines. 

Conrad  hesitated.  "  &o.  Brooks,  I  think  not.  I  don't  meet 
strangers  as  I  used.  I'm  suspicious  or  peevish,  as  I  was  with  Meg 
just  now.  It's  this,"  touching  his  eyes  with  thumb  and  finger. 
"You  can't  understand,  Ottley,  what  it  is  to  have  one  of  y-.T.»i 


64  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

senses  gone— how  it  galls.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  trick  we  had 
out  in  the  backwoods,  of  leaning  a  hickory  twig  loosely  against  a 
pine.  The  big  tree  always  began  to  rot  from  that  little  pint.  I 
just  fancy  old  Death  now  leaning  out  of  the  other  place  with  his 
staff  touchin  the  one  spot  in  my  body.  He's  entered  an  appear 
ance,  eh  ?  as  you  lawyers  would  put  it,"  with  a  chuckle. 

"  I  would  not  nurse  such  morbid  fancies,"  said  Ottley,  as  they 
shook  hands. 

"  Morbid  ?  As  weaj:  as  a  hysteric,  sickly  woman's  !  I  know  it." 
He  heard  Mrs.  Ottley's  dress  rustle,  and  went  forward  to  bid  her 
good-by,  standing  in  the  doorway  with  his  felt  hat  in  both  his 
hands,  as  she  talked  to  him.  Even  with  his  eyes  closed,  the  high- 
cheek  bones,  and  curve  of  the  strong  jaws  gave  to  his  pale  face  the 
;  sagacity  and  keenness  of  a  watch-dog's.  He  was  a  favorite  with  the 
little  lady,  as  with  all  women :  there  was  a  quizzical  gentleness  in 
his  manner  to  them  as  if  they  were  little  children.  The  truth  is, 
they  were  so  to  him ;  all  women,  alike ;  beautiful,  and  innocent  as 
children. 

"  You  are  going  to  consult  Doctor  Broderip  ?  "  she  asked,  in  spite 
of  her  husband's  frowns  and  nods. 

"  No,  madam,  I  fear  not.  I  thought  of  it.  But  I  cannot  afford  to 
waste  them  few  dollars  I'd  laid  by  for  Meg,  now  that  I  can't  work 
to  replace  them.  It  was  the  last  chance.  But  it  was  only  a  chance, 
after,  all." 

"Well,  good-by,  and  God  bless  you!"  said  Ottley,  hurrying 
them  away  from  his  wife  out  to  the  carriage  in  waiting. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Mrs.  Ottley.  The  God-bless-you  stuck  in  her 
throat :  it  was  a  thin  throat,  covered  with  frippery,  not  used  to 
weighty  utterances :  but  she  meant  it. 

Mr.  Conrad  gave  himself  up  to  a  nap  when  they  were  seated, 
bidding  Margaret  waken  him  before  they  came  to  the  house.  She 
sat  looking  out  at  the  houses  and  people  on  the  sidewalks,  remem 
bering  how  her  father  had  planned  this  journey  for  them  both  since 
she  was  a  child.  She  could  remember  sitting  on  his  knee  by  the 
hour  to  hear  him  tell  of  the  adventures  which  were  to  befall  them, 
when  they  came  East,  to  the  great  cities.  The  thronged  streets, 
the  windows  heaped  with  jewels  and  sheeny  silks,  the  glitter  of  the 
fountains,  the  music,  the  trained  birds,  spangled  Harlequin  and 
Columbine :  he  had  crowded  them  all  together  to  make  an  actual 
fairy  land  for  her. 

They  were  here  now,  and  the  fairy  land  had  resolved  itself  into 
the  dull  platitudes  of  the  streets  of  this  overgrown  village ;  into 
one  dreary  surgeon's  ante-room  after  another,  where  she  sat,  while 
his  eyes  had  been  burned  and  lanced,  rousing  no  trace  of  pain  on 
his  sallow,  set  face. 

He  asked  no  questions  about  the  new  scenes  around  him;  his 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  65 

jokes,  his  anecdotes  bore,  unusually,  the  peculiar  flavor  of  his 
camping-grounds  out  West ;  she  fancied  that  some  unexpressed 
feeling  growing  out  of  his  blindness  kept  him  silent ;  for,  but  a  year  or 
two  ago,  he  had  come  back  from  a  week's  visit  to  Ottley  exhila 
rated  as  a  boy,  with  the  suggestive  iffe  and  ideas  into  which  he  had 
been  plunged  ;  sorting  and  combating  them  with  his  own.  Every 
new  sight  or  word  had  been  like  a  nut  then  kept  for  him  to  crack 
and  enjoy  during  the  Winter  that  followed,  in  the  evenings  with 
Margaret,  bringing  some  kernel  of  sound  common  sense  out  of  each. 

But,  on  this  visit,  he  left  his  boarding-house  only  for  the  surgeon's 
room ;  listened  in  silence,  if  Margaret  spoke,  which  she  rarely  did, 
of  the  concerts  or  picture  galleries  to  which  they  took  her ;  avoided 
as  much  as  was  compatible  with  his  old-fashioned  courtesy,  the  in 
vitations  of  Mr.  Ottley  or  his  set. 

Now,  all  this  was  not  natural  to  his  wholesome,  hearty  tempera 
ment  :  she  knew  that.  What  if  Death  had  touched  him  in  the  loss 
of  that  one  sense?  "The  big  tree  began  to  rot  from  that  little 
point."  She  had  noted  those  words,  to-day,  echoing  an  older  fear. 

As  soon  as  this  fancy  first  came  to  her,  about  three  weeks  before,  she 
had  gone  to  actual  driving  work,  according  to  her  habit;  had  in 
duced  him  to  rent  a  small  farm  on  the  railroad  running  through  the 
valley  of  the  Schuylkill.  She  had  suggested  to  him  how  much 
might  be  done  among  the  colliers  near  by ;  brought  him  in  contact 
with  some  members  of  the  Conference.  He  had  pricked  his  ears  like 
a  war-horse  scenting  the  battle ;  it  was  hardly  a  month  ago,  but 
already  he  had  established  prayer  meetings,  a  class,  Sunday  visita 
tions  to  the  jail  and  alms-house,  and  a  promising  quarrel  with 
John  Berkett,  who  was  Presiding  Elder,  on  the  question  of  personal 
sanctification.  So  far  as  revivals  went,  Mr.  Conrad  was  a  Methodist 
of  the  Methodists.  He  had  taken  Ottley  to  one  on  the  last  Sunday, 
and  while  the  lawyer's  half  closed  black  eyes  surveyed  the  audience, 
hiding  a  polite  sneer,  Conrad  had  listened  to  the  mingled  prayers, 
hymns,  and  screams  with  a  grim,  sympathetic  smile. 

The  farm,  too,  filled  their  hands  with  work,  though  they  only  in 
tended  to  occupy  it  for  one  year:  there  was  a  basket  of  new  tools, 
and  papers  of  seeds  in  the  bottom  of  the  hack  now. 

Farm,  and  alms-houses  and  desultory  preaching,  however,  were 
but  makeshifts  for  his  old  active  life  with  the  people  of  his  bish 
opric,  as  he  called  the  bounds  of  his  itinerancy ;  where  for  forty 
years  he  had  lived  among  them  as  stock-raiser  and  preacher :  there 
w:is  not  a  child  in  the  circuit  who  did  not  know  his  keen,  sallow 
face.  A  poor  makeshift :  she  knew  that,  as  he  did. 

It  began  to  rain  as  they  drove  over  the  cobble  stones  ;  the  shops 

took  in  their  cheerful,  gaudy  drapery  and  the  gas  began  to  shine 

from  their  dingy  recesses,  the  gutters  splashed  mud,  the  drops  fell 

like  dull  weeping  on  the  carriage  windows  and  ran,  trickling,  down. 

5 


66  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Margaret  Conrad  bent  forward,  her  elbow  on  her  knee,  her  steady 
gray  eyes  looking  up  at  the  sleeping  man  beside  her.  Her  brain 
was  crowded  full  of  plans,  hurrying  eagerly  forward,  to  fill  up  the 
gap  in  his  life,  if  this  last  chance  failed.  She  could  so  stand  be 
tween  him  and  the  world,  that  he  would  never  know  the  loss  of  his 
sight.  She  never  over  or  undervalued  herself,  but  she  felt  her  own 
full  strength,  to-day,  in  will,  in  the  very  tension  of  her  powerful 
muscles :  she  believed  if  Death  himself  were  coming  to  this  old 
man  beside  her,  she  could  hold  him  back,  keep  him  off.  There  was 
no  emotion  in  her  face :  the  pulses  in  her  thick,  white  throat,  and  firm 
wrist  were  even  and  full,  but  she  stooped  until  her  face  rubbed  on 
the  brawny,  hairy  hand  flattened  on  his  knee,  thinking  of  the  years 
when  she  had  gone  to  sleep  every  night,  hugging  it,  in  her  little 
crib.  It  was  the  caress  of  a  dog  or  some  animal,  dumb  until  death 
to  utter  its  love. 

They  turned  into  Broad  street;  in  the  northern  part  of  which 
Doctor  Broderip  lived.  She  looked  out  at  the  steep  manufactories 
swarming  with  human  life,  at  the  gaping  depots,  the  rushing  trains 
sweeping  to  and  fro  within:  then  the  great  boulevard  opened  be 
yond  between  a  phalanx  of  stately  dwellings,  differing  from  the  dull 
rank  and  file  of  Philadelphia  houses,  in  that  each  looked  down  into 
the  broad,  miry  street  with  /a  separate,  independent  life  of  its  own,N; 
often  full  of  suggestive  beauty  in  color  and  outline.  But  the  wide 
road,  and  rows  of  leafless  trees  and  dwellings  were  but  faintly 
sketched  through  the  wet  Indian-inky  air,  as  a  half-faded  photo 
graph. 

She  saw,  at  the  end  of  a  square,  the  heavy  brown  house  of  the 
surgeon,  surrounded  by  wide  gardens,  stables,  hot-houses ;  in  half 
an  hour  she  would  know  all :  her  father's  life  and  her  own  would  be 
mapped  out.  Any  other  woman  would  have  shivered  from  cold, 
and,  perhaps,  begun  to  cry.  Miss  Conrad  sat  erect,  and  touched  her 
father's  shoulder  to  waken  him.  Something  in  his  face  when  sleep 
ing  would  have  told  you  that  he  was  blind :  he  suffered  nothing  to 
betray  it  when  awake.  She  paused,  thinking  how  many  people 
thought  he  was  callous  to  his  loss.  She  knew  the  keen  zest  for 
physical  life  in  every  nerve  and  bone  of  him:  she  knew  what  a 
savage  wrench  of  pain  the  loss  had  cost  him,  conceal  it  under  what 
good-humored  joke  he  would.  He  was  an  Indian  in  stoicism ;  but 
he  was  ai  Indian  in  his  relish  for  the  use  of  sight  and  smell,  and 
palate,  also,  to  tell  it  all.  The  blood  of  his  youth  had  been  rank 
and  violent,  she  had  heard ;  there  was  no  decay  in  him  now.  He 
had  nearly  reached  the  age  when  life  is  ordinarily  a  burden :  but 
lie  could  preach  his  three  sermons  a  week,  walk  his  ten  miles,  and 
»aw  a  load  of  wood  with  any  man.  The  boys  who  served  under 
him  (for  he  had  gone  out  under  the  first  year's  call),  boasted  that 
be  had  the  nose  of  a  pointer,  and  the  eye  of  a  hawk:  in  his  Confer- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  67 

ence  he  was  put  forward  as  their  most  powerful,  resolute  debater; 
"one  of  God's  own  bull-dogs"  they  called  him. 

She  remembered  all  this,  suddenly,  when  she  wakened  him,  and 
he  started  up  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  instead  of  turning  to  the 
light.  It  never  before  came  to  her  so  clearly,  all  that  it  had  cost 
him  to  sit  down  in  the  middle  of  his  journey,  forever  in  the  dark, 
with  hands  and  feet  tied. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  liveried  coachmen  about  the  iron  railings 
in  front  of  the  garden ;  the  carriages  waited,  empty,  in  the  street ; 
their  hack  stopped,  and  Miss  Conrad  led  her  father  up  the  narrow 
walk. 

The  ante-room  into  which  they  passed  out  of,  the  mud  and  rain, 
opened  to  them  like  a  bit  of  Summer ;  the  light  came  warm  and 
tinted  through  stained  windows  on  the  snowy  India  matting  and 
light  cane  furniture ;  there  were  ivy  and  orchidaB  drooping  from 
the  delicate  panelling  on  the  walls,  feathery  mosses  trailing  over  the 
windows;  one  side  of  the  room  opened  through  sliding  doors  into  a 
conservatory,  where  beds  rose  over  beds  of  field  grasses  and  brilliant 
flowers.  A  bright-eyed,  graceful  dog  lay  dozing  on  a  crimson  mat, 
some  birds  chirped  and  pecked  at  a  plate  of  fruit,  the  very  atmos 
phere  was  bright  and  perfumed  as  with  a  gale  of  health.  Inside 
was  a  larger  apartment  in  which  half-a-dozen  women,  apparently 
attendants  upon  patients,  waited.  Beyond,  extending  through  the 
entire  left  wing  of  the  building,  were  the  private  operating  rooms ; 
the  doors  between  them  were,  however,  jealously  closed. 

Mr.  Conrad  turned  his  head  quickly  from  side  to  side.  "  It  is 
like  a  June  day.  That  is  the  twit  of  a  finch,  do  you  hear,  Meg  ? 
There  are  sweet  peas  and  vernal  grass  ;  we  have  no  such  smell  in 
our  western  fields.  What  kind  of  man  is  this  bidder  of  yours  ? 
Where  is  the  dog  ?  "  sharply,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  turn 
ing  his  face,  pointer-like,  as  his  keen  scent  stood  in  lieu  of  sight  to 
him. 

"  Here  !  "  holding  out  his  hand,  which  the  dog  instantly  obeyed. 
•'  It's  a  thoroughbred  pointer,"  passing  his  hand  over  its  jaws. 

Miss  Conrad  answered  at  random.  She  was  listening  to  the 
carriages,  as  after  slow  delay,  they  rolled  away  one  by  one,  the 
group  in  the  waiting-room  growing  gradually  less. 

They  were  all  gone  at  last.  The  afternoon  had  crept  on  toward 
evening.  Her  father  sat  silent,  playing  with  the  dog.  She  could 
perceive  the  gathering  twilight  and  storm  without  by  the  heavier 
shadows  through  the  artificial  bloom  and  heat ;  a  door  at  last — from 
one  of  the  furthest  operating  rooms — opened,  and  the  small,  insig 
nificant  figure  of  a  man  in  gray  entered  and  came  quickly  toward 
them. 

He  bowed  to  Miss  Conrad,  and  seated  himself  in  front  of  her 
father,  dexterously  contriving  that  the  light  should  fall  directly  on 
the  old  man's  half-shut,  unsheltered  eyes. 


68  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  have  detained  you  tediously ;  I  beg  pardon,"  in  a  sharp, 
business-like  tone.  "  But  our  little  matter  does  not  require  long 
consideration.  I  have  invested  largely,  heretofore,  in  Western 
lands,  and  always  with  success.  What  is  this  tract  you  have  to 
sell  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  you've  bought  on  speculation,  before  ?  "  leisurely  lean 
ing  back  with  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat  sleeve-holes.  "  Mining 
or  oil  claims,  it's  probable  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

V  Then  mine  will  not  suit  you,"  gruffly.  "  It  is  only  arable  land. 
I  hold  it  at  its  maximum  value.  I'll  not  deceive  you.  I  kept  it 
only  for  my  horses." 

The  surgeon  had  been  bending  slightly  forward,  his  light,  hazel 
eyes  fixed  on  the  sightless  ones  before  him ;  but  he  sat  up  at  this, 
saying,  dogmatically, 

"  Unless  your  horses  were  mere  roadsters,  that  herbage  was  too 
succulent.  Any  turf  horse  would  grow  flabby  on  it." 

"  For  turf  horses,  I  grant  you,"  said  Conrad,  eagerly.  "  But  I 
would  use  that  Western  grass  as  I  would  the  warm  blood  of  the 
Justin  Morgans — to  temper  cold,  roomy  Canadian  or  Norman 
breeds,  eh  ?  " 

"  Morgan  ?  "  with  a  sneer.  "  A  second-rate,  doubtful  strain  of 
blood,  do  what  you  Avill  with  it.  It  is  in  keeping  with  the  American 
character — this  outcry  for  its  inferior  flash  merit.  It  is  driving  all 
thoroughbreds  to  the  wall." 

"  I  know  it,  sir  !  I  know  it !  "  eagerly.  "  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
Time  was,  that  my  word  carried  weight  in  any  training-ground  in 
Kentucky ;  but  I'm  only  on  the  circuit  now,  and — "  He  half  raised 
his  hand  to  his  eyes,  and  let  it  fall.  "Besides,  in  Ohio  and  Iowa, 
except  some  drops  of  old  Sir  Archy's  blood,  the  stables  are  in  a 
poor  condition." 

"  Kentucky  ?  There  was  a  horse  in  Kentucky  in  '55 — Henry 
Perritt— " 

"  A  three-year  old !  I  know !  Beat  Lexington's  time  in  a  two: 
mile  heat.  Well,  sir,  he  wTas  ridden  to  death  on  the  Metairie  course. 
I  owned  a  colt  myself — one  of  the  Timoleon  stock — that  promised 
as  fair  as  Perritt,  but  he  was  lamed  in  the  cars." 

''Uninsured?" 

"  Yes.  But  it  was  not  the  money  loss  I  cared  for,"  his  face 
flushing  purple.  "  I  was  a  small  better ;  but  to  see  them  two 
creeturs  of  mine — that  was  as  dear  to  me  then  as  Meg  is  now — 
come  in,  winners,  to  the  starting  post,  their  eyes  flashing,  their 
nerves  quivering  !  It's  worth  livin'  for — a  minit  like  that !  " 

"  I  have  some  stock  I'd  like  to  show  you,"  said  the  surgeon, 
rising  suddenly.  "  There  are  very  few  men  that  I  admit  to  my 
stables,  but—" 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  69 

Conrad  got  up  eagerly.  "  You  may  trust  me,  sir,  you  may  trust 
me,"  with  a  quick,  cordial  laugh.  "  I'm  more  akin  to  the  hosses 
than  to  most  men  I  see.  My  hat,  Margaret,  my  hat !  " 

The  little  surgeon  buttoned  his  -long-skirted  gray  coat  about  his 
spare  figure,  while  Miss  Conrad,  laying  her  muff  aside,  brought  his 
hickory  stick  and  hat  to  her  father.  He  thrust  the  gloves  which 
were  in  the  crown  into  his  pocket,  muttering  something  about 
"  rubbish,"  then,  striking  his  palms  together, 

"  Well,  sir,  well !  I'm  ready  !  I've  not  seen  a  decent  bit  of  horse 
flesh  since  I  came  here.  They  say  there  are  some  pretty  trotters 
down  on  the  Point  Breeze  course,  but  my  eyes  are  in  my  finger-ends 
now.  I  must  touch  them  to  know.  How  far  is  it  ?" 

"  But  a  step,  and  under  cover." 

Miss  Conrad  for  the  first  time  was  scanning  the  celebrated  sur 
geon  with  her  opaque,  gray  eyes  as  he  stood  drawing  a  flesh-colored 
pair  of  gloves  on  his  delicate  hands.  It  was  an  insignificant,  slight- 
featured  face.  "  Cruel  and  hard  ?  "  She  could  hardly  call  it  that, 
and  yet —  The  confusing,  hazel  eyes  suddenly  turned  on  her ;  she 
was  doubly  perplexed. 

Whatever  he  might  be  outside  of  his  stables,  so  far  as  they  were 
concerned,  he  was  eager  and  childish  as  her  father,  she  saw.  The 
two  men  had  struck  fire  on  one  point  of  contact ;  both  their  faces 
were  heated. 

"  You  will  not  find  it  dull  to  wait  for  us  here  ?  "  Doctor  Broderip 
said,  gravely  bowing  to  Margaret. 

"  Meg  could  not  go  with  us  ?  "  ventured  the  old  man. 

"  I  would  prefer  she  should  not." 

He  gave  no  reason,  and  the  tone  was  peevish  and  sharp. 

"  Surely  !  surely  !  But  she's  a  capital  eye  for  a  horse,  Meg  has," 
as  they  went  out  through  the  conservatory.  "  She  finds  more  music 
in  the  neigh  of  one  than  in  all  your  opera  tin-tink-ling." 

There  was  a  small  door  at  the  back  of  the  conservatory,  leading 
into  a  narrow  passage  which  ended  in  the  stables.  The  surgeon 
paused  at  the  entrance.  Old  Conrad  had  pulled  out  a  thick  cigar 
and  was  proceeding  to  light  it.  Broderip  touched  it  impatiently 
with  his  finger.  "  Not  until  we  are  clear  of  the  stables,  if  you 
please.  My  house  is  at  your  service  to  smoke  in,  but  the  horses  do 
not  like  it." 

Conrad  laughed,  good  humoredly.  "  You've  the  right  feeling  for 
them — the  right  feeling.  You  never  use  tobacco,  I  know,"  turning 
euddenly. 

"  No.     How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Conrad,  crumbling  his  cigar  and  letting  it  fall, 
"  it  was  curous  how  I  knowed  that.  It  was  by  my  hearing.  I 
knowed  that  by  your  voice." 

Broderip  made  no  reply.     He  stood  with  the  key  fitted  in  the 


70  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

lock,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder,  the  anxious,  irritable  look  on 
his  face  with  which  a  sensitive  woman  sees  a  finger  laid  on  the  habits 
or  whims  behind  which  she  hides. 

"  I  knowed  it  by  your  voice,"  in  his  lazy,  amused  ton<e.  "  It's  a 
pecoolar  voice,  did  you  know  ?  "  turning  his  sagacious,  blind  face 
down  toward  the  smaller  man.  "  The  minit  you  spq&e  I  noticed 
it.  It's  sharp  and  wiry,  but  there's  a  deal  hid  -under  that — I 
wouldn't  like  to  say  what.  I  never  heerd  but  one  Mke  it.  When 
you  came  in  to-night  I  said  to  myself — that's  John  Pritchard's 
double." 

"  What  sort  of  man  was  my  double  ?  "  the  key  turning  in  the 
lock. 

"  If  you  can  imagine  a  feller  miserably  poor,  with  an  inordinate 
hungry  brain,  and  the  nerves  and  longings  of  a  woman,  and  no  self- 
confidence  to  cover  them,  going  about,  stung  and  bruised  at  every 
turn,  cut  to  the  quick  by  every  chance  word — 

"  Enough  !  enough  !  "  laughed  the  surgeon.  "  Your  spectre  is 
ghastly.  My  ghost  even  would  have  a  heartier  look,  I  fancy. 
Here  are  the  horses." 

"  But  tobacco  affects  you  as  it  did  him,  I'll  wager,"  insisted  Con 
rad,  doggedly.  "  He  dared  not  use  any  stimulant ;  it  was  like 
setting  fire  to  veins  filled  with  spirit." 

"  What  became  of  Pritchard  ?  "  said  the  surgeon,  carelessly,  as 
with  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  elbow  he  guided  him  between  the 
stalls. 

"  Of  John,  eh  ?  John  ?  Well,  now,  do  you  know,  the  feeling 
on  me  is  so  strong  of  your  likeness  to  him  that  I'd  rather  not  tell 
you  the  end  of  that  man.  I'm  a  superstitious  old  fogy,  maybe ; 
but  it  would  be  like  holding  up  a  picture  of  your  own  death,  it 
seems  to  me." 

"As  you  will,"  laughing  again ;  but  the  heartiness  had  gone  out 
of  the  laugh.  "  Here  are  the  horses." 

It  needed  but  a  moment  to  drive  all  superstitious  fancies  from 
old  Conrad's  brain.  The  stables  were  high  and  wide,  daintily  kept 
as  a  lady's  boudoir.  There  were  trifles,  showing  a  jealous  care  for 
the  comfort  of  the  animals,  such  as  many  men  do  not  give  to  their 
wives. 

Mr.  Conrad  had  his  coat  collar  thrown  back — his  shirt  sleeves 
pushed  up,  and  was  passing  his  hands  rapidly  over  the  horses, 
giving  vent  at  intervals  to  grunts  of  doubt  or  pleasure. 

"  Bay,  this  filly  is,  eh  ?  How  about  the  color  of  the  legs  ?  I 
put  a  good  deal  of  stress  on  the  color  of  the  legs.  Blazed  with 
white?  Bad!  bad!" 

"  Now,  this,"  said  the  surgeon,  bringing  him  to  a  stall  set  apart, 
in  which  stood  a  chestnut  colt,  "  this  colt  I  bought  last  June.  It 
belonged  to  one  of  the  Petries,  of  Louisiana.  The  fellow  thought 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  71 

that  its  cannon-bone  «  as  iirured,"  with  a  clmckle.  "He  gave  half 
a  dozen  likely  negroes  for  it  two  months  before.  That  colt  cost 
me,  sir,  just  one-third  of  its  value."  The  repeated  derisive  chuckle 
was  distasteful  to  the  old  preacher's  coarse-grained  sense  of  honor : 
he  pulled  his  hat  on  roughly,  but  said  nothing.  "I've  his  pedigree 
back  to  the  Byerly  Turk.  Feel  his  back,"  triumphantly  pointing 
to  a  protuberance  behind  the  shoulders. 

"  It's  the  Bedford  hump  !  "  exclaimed  Conrad,  his  annoyance  for 
gotten.  "  Eclipse  and  Black  Maria  had  it.  Ah,  ah  !  This  is  the 
breed,  sir!"  and  then  followed  the  usual  jargon  of  clean  withers, 
keen  muzzle,  broad  bellows  room,  etc. 

"  So,  so,  my  beauty  !  A  nutty  brown,  hey?  There's  no  coarse 
hairs  here,"  sliding  a  critical  finger  down  the  back-bone.  "  Satiny 
and  cool.  I'll  wager,  now,  that  colt  has  an  eye  in  his  head  as  bril 
liant  and  innocent  as  any  woman's." 

The  surgeon  drew  the  silky,  thin  mane  through  his  fingers  once 
or  twice,  then  he  led  the  colt  back  into  its  stall.  "  As  a  woman's  ? 
I'd  be  sorry  if  his  ideas  were  not  cleaner  and  honester  than  women's 
— as  I  know  them.  I  saw  one  woman,  lately,"  after  a  pause,  as  he 
adjusted  a  loose  bed  of  straw,  near  to  the  horse,  "  who  put  me  in 
mind  of  Prince  Hal,  here :  I  never  saw  but  the  one.  She  might  be 
vicious  in  temper,  but  she  was  as  sensitive,  as  honest,  and  as  game; 
as  loyal,  too,"  joining  Conrad,  and  keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  his  face  to 
see  the  eifect  of  his  words.  "  If  that  woman  once  cared  for  a  man  she 
would  run  her  race,  without  wincing,  to  serve  his  interest  or  pride, 
until  she  fell  dead 'under  the  spur,  as  a  thoroughbred  w^ill  do." 

"  I  could  almost  think  I  knew  the  woman  you  mean,"  said  Conrad, 
carelessly.  "  Shall  we  go  in  ?  I'm  obleeged  to  you,"  touching  his 
hat  with  his  old-fashioned  politeness,  "for  showing  me  that  colt. 
A  new  horse  is  like  a  new  friend  to  me.  Why,  sir,  I've  a  mare  that 
I  ride  on  circuit  at  home,  and  do  you  know,  that  from  the  day  my 
sight  left  me,  that  creetur  approached  me  differently?  She  knovved. 
When  I  can  see  again,  I  think  I'll  tell  the  good  news  first  to  old 
Jin  ;  after  Meg." 

The  surgeon  had  stopped,  leaning  against  the  wall,  playing  with 
a  halter  that  hung  there  ;  he  looked  in  a  furtive,  side-long'  way  at 
the  old  man,  a  queer,  half-subdued  emotion  on  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Conrad,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  change  in  his  voice,  "  I 
did  not  bring  you  here  to  look  at  the  horses,  altogether ;  I  had  an 
other  matter  to  talk  of;  a  secret,  in  fact,  not  of  my  own,  but  your 
daughter's."  He  hurried  on  without  noticing  the  old  man's  startled 
exclamation. 

"I  am  a  surgeon,  brought  necessarily  in  contact  with  the  dis 
eased,  in  temperament,  as  well  as  body,  and  I  have  made  it  a  rule 
to  shun  all  secrecy  or  deception  with  patients  :  as  I  would  a  diet  of 
false  stimulants.  '  Blunt  words  and  sharp  knives,'  I  tell  my  pupils.' 


72  WAITING  FOU  THE  VERDICT. 

Conrad  was  silent  a  moment,  turning  his  hat  in  a  perplexed,  un 
certain  way.  "  A  surgeon,  eh  ?  That's  a  good  rule  for  a  surgeon 
or  any  man.  But  Meg  ?  I  don't  comprehend  you." 

"  My  name  is  Broderip." 

"  Broderip  ?     And  a  surgeon  !  " 

"  Yes."' 

"I  understand,"  with  a  change  of  color,  pulling  his  gray  whiskers, 
uncertainly.  "Margaret  consulted  you  ?" 

"About  two  weeks  ago  she  called  on  me." 

"  Poor  Meg  ! "  still  stroking  the  bushy  beard.  The  heat  had 
gone  out  of  his  pale,  high-featured  face,  and  he  kept  the  diseased 
eyes  tightly  shut.  "  Poor  Meg,"  he  said  again,  with  a  short,  un 
easy  laugh. 

"It  is  just  two  weeks  since  Miss  Conrad  first  came  to  me,"  said 
Doctor  Broderip,  in  the  same  subdued  voice,  still  playing  idly  with 
the  halter,  and  looking  at  it.  "  She  came  in  the  morning,  early  in 
the  morning — I  always  take  note  of  the  hour  when  I  first  meet  a 
person ;  it  has  its  meaning — it  has  its  meaning." 

"  Eh  ?  I  beg  pardon,"  anxiously.     "  You  speak  low." 

The  surgeon  looked  up.  "  Your  daughter  gave  me,"  in  a  sud 
denly  sharp,  business-like  tone,  "  a  clear  diagnosis  of  the  case — re 
markably  clear  for  a  woman  ;  she  told  me  that  you  had  refused  to 
consult  me,  because — " 

Conrad  turned  quickly.  "  You  need  not  hesitate.  I  had  not  the 
means.  Poverty  is  no  disgrace." 

The  little  man  shrugged  his  narrow  shoulders,  and  made  a 
grimace,  but  Conrad  saw  neither.  If  Broderip's  greedy  extortion 
when  a  rich  patient  fell  into  his  clutches,  was  as  surely  reckoned  on 
in  the  city,  as  the  skill  and  keenness  of  his  scalpel,  it  was  a  trait  of 
which  he  evidently  was  not  ashamed. 

"  Miss  Conrad's  suggestion,"  he  resumed,  "  was,  that  I  should  see 
you  under  cover  of  some  assumed  business,  and  so  decide  upon  the 
chance  of  relief.  I  saw  you  to-day  at  her  desire." 

"  My  girl  did  not  know,  Doctor  Broderip,"  standing  stiff  as  a 
corporal,  "  the  favor  she  asked,  when  she  planned  an  opinion  from 
you,  clandestine-like.  She's  fond  of  her  father  beyond  the  com 
mon  ;  and  she  don't  stop  for  anything  where  he's  concerned. 
We've  been  intimate,  Meg  and  me,  as  if  she  was  a  young  man. 
I'm  obleeged  that  you  humored  her,  Doctor  Broderip." 

"  I  humored  her — yes,"  with  an  odd  smile. 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this.  The  old  man  drew  himself 
erect,  his  broad  shoulders  growing  heavy  to  him,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  his  face  straight  forward — like  a  grenadier  waiting  for 
the  death  shot  or  pardon. 

Broderip,  hearing  his  heavy  breathing,  lifted  his  sallow  little 
face  slowly  from  the  strip  of  leather  which  he  lazily  twisted  in 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  73 

coils  at  his  feet,  a  half-pitiful  smile  on  his  thin  li|>s  ;  he  watched  \  he 
old  man  turn  toward  him  restlessly  again  and  again,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

"  You  have  decided  on  my  case,  then  ?  "  said  Conrad,  at  last,  in  a 
guttural  voice. 

"  It  needed  but  a  glance  to  do  that,  Mr.  Conrad,"  in  as  gentle 
and  tender  a  tone  as  he  would  use  to  a  child. 

The  old  man  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.     "  You  have — there' 
no  chance  for  me  ?  " 

"  None." 

Conrad  turned,  and  suddenly  wralked  down  the  stable  between  the 
stalls  to  a  narrow  window.  He  put  out  one  groping  hand,  holding 
it  straight  before  him,  and  stood  motionless  there,  his  back  toward 
Broderip,  who  looked  compassionately  after  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  hung  the  bridle  up,  carefully  polishing  an  embosfsed  bit  of  silver 
witli  his  glove.  He  waited  patiently  till  the  old  man  came  back,  his 
face  composed,  but  pale,  speaking  in  an  exaggerated,  loud  tone. 
Broderip's,  on  the  contrary,  was  curiously  gentle. 

"  There's  a  sharp  wind  outside.     It  yells  like  as  if  'twas  off  sea." 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  Meg  know  of  the  end  of  it  ?  " 

"No.     How  could  she?" 

"  Sure  enough.  I  wonder  what — what  she'll  say  ?  There's  a  long 
road  for  her  and  me  to  travel  together  now." 

Doctor  Broderip  hesitated.  "  What  if  you  spared  her  for  a  little 
while  longer?  A  woman  can  bear  any  pain  if  you  give  her  time 
for  breath.  Let  me  treat  for  a  short  time  with  you  for  your 
land—" 

Conrad  threw  out  his  hand.  "  No ;  I  couldn't  act  it  out.  Let 
me  go  home  now.  I'll  tell  her  when  I've  had  a  minit  to  think  it 
over.  And  then  we'll  never  speak  of  it  agin.  That's  the  way  with 
Meg  when  anything  hurts  her." 

He  walked  past  the  little  man  to  the  door,  and  then  recollecting 
himself,  turned  with  a  cordial  smile,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I'm  a 
rude  old  hoosier.  Another  time  I'll  thank  you  for  your  hospitality, 
and—" 

Broderip  interrupted  him,  with  a  slight  color  marked  in  his  sal 
low  cheek.  "There  was  one  matter,  part  of  Miss  Conrad's  plan, 
which  I  should  mention,"  hesitating. 

Conrad  turned,  attentive. 

"  She  spoke,"  said  the  surgeon,  with  an  amused  laugh,  "  of  a  fee. 
I  think  she  had  some  dread  of  my  claims  in  that  particular.  She 
had  an  idea  of  making  over  some  property  of  her  own  unknown  to 
you." 

Conrad  rubbed  his  hands  softly  together,  but  did  not  speak. 

"There  is  no  fee,  now.     No  !  "  lifting  his  hand  with  the  irritated 


74  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

pettishness  of  a  child.  "  There  was  no  cure.  That  is  ray  rule.  Do 
not  interrupt  me,  if  you  please.  But  when  your  daughter  left  my 
ante-room,  she  dropped  an  ornament  that  she  wore,  a  peculiar  little 
bracelet.  I  have  it  here."  He  held  something  in  his  hand  as  he 
spoke,  glancing  at  it  furtively.  "  It  suited  the  hour  in  the  morning 
at  which  she  came,  it  suited  her,  or  my  idea  about  her,  and  her  er 
rand.  I  would  like  to  beg  it  of  her.  It  did  so  fit  in  with  my  whim 
of  the  moment  when  I  saw  her,  that  it  would  be  of  more  absolute 
value  to  me  than  that  land  of  hers  in  Kentucky.  I  am  full  of 
whims,"  with  a  boyish  laugh. 

Conrad's  shrewd  face  was  bent  toward  him  with  as  keen  a  scru 
tiny  on  it  as  though  he  yet  could  see. 

"  I  understand  you.  You  don't  want  to  leave  the  obligation  on 
us.  It's  a  delicate  thing  to  do — that." 

"  You  do  me  more  than  justice.  It  is  a  pretty  toy  " — turning  it 
over  and  over  in  his  hand,  abstractedly. 

It  might  have  been  a  charm,  by  the  curious  change  which  it 
worked  on  his  pale,  insignificant  face.)  It  grew,  slowly,  fine-nerved 
and  wistful  as  a  woman's,  the  protritding  forehead  lowered,  a  rare, 
subtle  intellect  looked  out  of  the  hazel  eyes,  which  were  usually 
but  a  shining,  confusing  mask;  the  mouth  moved,  irritable  and 
tender. 

"  Keep  the  bracelet,  surely,"  said  Conrad.  "  Poor  Meg  has  no 
jewels,  but  it  may  remind  you  of  the  time  when  the  way  in  which 
you  gave  a  favor  was  kinder  than  the  kindness  itself.  I'll  reckelect 
it  after  you  do,  I  know." 

"  I'll  beo-  it  of  her  when  I  know  her  better.     It's  a  delicate  little 

o 

toy,"  said  Broderip  again,  letting  it  drop  slowly  over  his  fingers,  in 
the  twilight,  the  curious  smile  deepening,  and  driving  the  habitual 
lower  from  his  face. 

The  bauble  was  but  a  string  of  rose-colored  shells,  linked  with 
gold,  but  as  they  caught  the  dull  light,  they  broke  and  increased  it 
in  their  delicate  pink  curves  a  thousand  times,  until  Broderip  coiled 
up  the  chain  carefully  as  though  it  were  one  of  the  old  talismans 
of  the  genii  which  for  him  who  possessed  it  would  turn  all  things 
to  gold. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

COYLE  RANDOLPH'S  WILL. 

BIGAIL     BLANCHARD 

determined  to  remain  on 
the  boat  while  it  made  its 
uncertain  way  up  the 
Ohio,  in  preference  to 
travelling  by  railroad. 

They  were  long,  cold, 
drowsy  days  which  fol 
lowed.  The  air  was  heavy 
with  the  gathering  De 
cember  snows ;  the  sky 
overhead  was  opaque  and 
gray.  The  little  stern- 
wheel,  Messenger,  plough 
ed  herself  a  path  but 
slowly  through  the  masses 
of  mud  and  ice  which 
choked  the  broad,  sluggish 
river. 

The  old  lady  and  Ross- 
lyn  found  a  cosy  cor 
ner  for  themselves  every 
day  on  deck,  where, 
cloaked  and  hooded,  they  could  see  the  yellow  foam  which  curdled 
out  into  the  water  as  they  floated  along ;  or  above  that,  where  the 
pearly  twilight  and  the  soft  glimmer  and  sparkle  of  the  falling 
snow  filled  the  air  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth.  Low,  sullen 
hills  crouched  along  shore;  between  them  there  were  glimpses 
of  open,  rolling  slopes  of  wood  and  pasture,  white  and  silent  in  the 
snow,  or  of  stern  mountain  peaks,  with  the  gray  smoke  from  the 
farm-houses  at  their  base,  blown  and  drifted  across  their  sides. 
But  it  was  all  dumb,  dim,  white,  and  phantasmal  as  a  country  seen 
in  sleep. 


f 


76  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Let  us  alone !"  cried  the  old  lady,  with  a  childish  shrug  of 
delight,  when  Randolph  proposed  they  should  land  and  go  by  rail 
to  their  journey's  end.  "  I  will  not  lose  a  moment  of  my  Sabbath 
day.  This  is  drowsy  old  music,  played  over  and  over  again, 
making  one, 

With  half  shut  eyes,  ever  to  seem 

Falling  asleep  in  a  half  dream." 

The  voices  of  the  crew  could  seldom  be  heard  above  in  the  little 
cabin,  which,  with  its  quiet,  its  cheerful  compactness,  its  two  or 
three  easy  chairs  drawn  about  the  wood  fire,  crackling  in  the  open 
stove,  made  a  home  picture  inside  of  the  shifting,  cold  landscape 
without. 

The  professor  would  look  around  it  with  keen,  boyish  enjoyment. 

"  We  have  left  this  miserable,  bloody  work  quite  behind  us,"  he 
used  to  say  every  day  to  Friend  Blanchard,  stroking  his  beard  com 
placently,  at  which  she  only  smiled. 

Yet,  when  even  she  was  glad  of  the  momentary  respite  in  which 
to  take  breath,  could  Garrick  be  blamed  if  he  rejoiced  to  find  his 
muscles  and  brain  alike  sinking  down  again  into  their  normal 
stupor?  This  hurly-burly  of  work  or  war  might  be  needed  for  the 
masses,  but  the  cultured  soul  grew  in  quiety  or,  as  he  expressed  it, 
to  Abigail,  "The  plebeian  Jacob  cheated  and  wrestled  for  his 
blessing,  but  Abraham  waited  patient  until  the  evening,  and  the  god's 
came  and  abode  with  him." 

At  which  she  laughed  again ;  nor  even  replied,  when  he  assured 
her  sententiously,  that  u  Too  great  action  was  the  curse  of  the 
North;  it  had  destroyed  their  social  manners,  as  well  as  their 
politics  and  religion."  None  of  the  crude  notions  of  the  young  fel 
low  would  tempt  her  into  argument  to  break  the  quiet  of  her  holi 
day. 

So  the  long,  cold,  dreamy  days  crept  by.  In  all  his  life  after 
ward,  Garrick  Randolph  looked  back  on  them  as  lifted  up,  and  set 
apart  from  all  the  years  before ;  a  light,  like  that  of  their  own  crim 
son  sunsets  shining  through  the  snow,  a  sound,  like  that  of  the 
inarticulate  music  which  floated  sometimes  to  him  off  from  shore, 
giving  a  strange,  unreal  glamour  to  them.  For,  under  the  snow 
and  sunsets,  and  slow,  drifting  silence,  there  was  an  undefinable 
something,  a  pain  and  pleasure,  restless,  causeless,  coming  and  gone 
like  the  wind ;  an  unknown  heat  in  his  blood,  an  unknown  thirst 
for  he  knew  not  what ;  a  vexing,  goading  disquiet  which  charmed 
and  alarmed  him. 

Yet  they  were  commonplace,  monotonous  days  enough,  apparently. 
He  came  out  from  his  stateroom  to  the  quiet  little  breakfast  with  Ross- 
lyn  and  her  friend  ;  then  he  paced  the  deck  or  sat  by  the  fire,  studying 
the  new  theory  of  forces,  until  the  afternoon's  long,  inconsequent 
talk  with  the  Quakeress,  while  she  sat  wrapped  in  her  cloak  on 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  77 

deck,  the  keen  black  eyes  and  white  hair  set  like  a  picture  in  the 
fur  hood ;  Rosslyn  beside  her. 

He  very  seldom  talked  with  Miss  Burley.  But  he  flattered  him 
self  that  he  had  an  artist's  eye,  and  fof  that  reason  liked  to  note 
how  the  frosty  wind  had  brought  out  the  clear  crimson  tint  on  her 
cheeks,  or  to  watch  her  step  as  she  paced  the  deck.  Sometimes  she 
sat  in  the  cabin,  and  sewed  at  some  dainty  white  stuff  while  he  and 
Friend  Blanchard  held  their  long  gossips. 

She  was  a  very  simple'-hearted  girl,  he  thought,  easily  read  as  a 
page  in  her  own  Bible,  and  just  as  pure.  She  had  no  petty  little 
blushes  or  affectations  with  which  to  recognize  him  as  a  man, 
young,  and  not  unattractive.  He  had  been  used  to  such  little 
decoys.  The  last  of  the  Page-Randolphs  was  a  hero  among  his  kin, 
and  he  had  cause  to  know  it.  But  this  girl  spoke  to  the  tobacco- 
spitting  captain  or  Sam,  the  cook,  with  just  the  same  simple 
courtesy.  It  did  not  nettle  him.  It  was  the  reticence,  yet  hospi 
tality  of  manner  of  a  princess  of  the  blood,  as  he  said  before.  Her 
birth,  doubtless,  gave  it  to  her.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the  king's  son 
would  come ;  the  hero  who  always  ends  the  fairy  story,  and  the 
princess  would  grow  shy  and  distant ;  even  vain,  maybe,  like  other 
women,  and  jealous,  lest  her  beauty  should  not  be  rare  in  his  eyes. 

In  the  long,  drowsy  evenings,  playing  chess  with  the  old  lady, 
glancing  now  and  then  across  the  glowing  coals  at  this  rare  beauty, 
he  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  wonder  what  manner  of  man  the 
coming  hero  would  be.  Every  day,  as  he  saw  her  in  new  lights,  his 
fancy  about  him  changed.  Sometimes,  when  he  was  in  his  berth, 
the  boat  rocking  him  gently  to  and  fro,  and  the  throbs  of  the 
engine  sounding  beneath  him,  he  could  not  sleep  for  thinking-  of  it. 

About  the  same  period,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  Garrick  Ran 
dolph,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  began  to  cherish  occasionally  an 
ill  opinion  of  himself. 

Now,  Friend  Blanchard  never  argued,  and  took  but  a  dull  inter 
est  in  the  antagonism  of  forces ;  what  could  they  do  but  gossip  ? 
She  belonged,  however,  to  the  high  Brahmin  caste  of  gossips ;  the 
world  had  been  a  picture  gallery  for  her,  and  if  you  looked  back  at 
it  through  her  eyes,  you  saw  groups,  posed  and  draped  with  an 
artist's  touch,  wonderful  for  their  absurdity  or  pathos.  She  humored 
the  young  man  too ;  photographed  the  Randolphs  and  Pages  for 
him  for  twro  or  three  generations  back.  They  had  been  influential, 
cultured,  easy-livers;  chivalric,  also,  according  to  the  Southern 
code.  When  traits  such  as  these  were  patent  in  her  anecdotes,  the 
professor  would  be  apt  to  call  her  attention  to  the  marked  family 
features  in  his  own  face,  his  father's  chin,  his  Uncle  George's  nose, 
with  an  unconscious  vanity  which  keenly  amused  the  old  lady.  She 
spoke  of  it  to  Rosslyn. 

"  That  pride  seems  to  me  natural  and  proper,"  the  girl  said,  with- 


78  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

out  smiling.  She  was  leaning  over  the  deck-railing,  her  grave, 
brown  eyes  fixed  on  the  water.  "  You  taught  me  yourself  that 
vice  or  virtue  comes  to  us  in  the  blood  from  our  fathers.  Why 
should  he  not  thank  God  if  his  is  clean  ?  "  She  looked  down  at  her 
own  wrist,  with  the  milky  veins  crossing  on  it ;  looked  at  it  long 
and  curiously,  while  the  Quakeress  watched  her  shrewdly  from 
behind.  After  a  while,  she  said :  "  Who  is  the  Strebling  that  Mr. 
Randolph  calls  cousin  ?  " 

"James  Strebling,  of  Alabama.  Does  thee  know  him,  my  dear? 
A  flaccid,  feeble  fellow.  His  blood  now,  if  thee  talks  of  blood,  is  too 
pale  material  out  of  which  to  make  either  a  sinner  or  a  saint." 

"  No.  I  do  not  know  him,"  said  Ross,  still  looking  at  her  wrist. 
After  a  minute  or  two  she  gently  closed  and  unclosed  her  hand ; 
the  muscles  under  the  fine  flesh  were  like  steel ;  the  life  throbbing 
in  her  broad  bosom  and  through  her  lithe,  delicate  limbs  was  keen 
and  genial,  and  exhilarated,  as  the  spirit  of  pure  wine. 

"  jTam  not  flaccid.  I  will  perforce  be  either  a  sinner  or  a  saint," 
fche  thought  to  herself.  After  a  while  she  suffered  the  unclean 
thing  to  drop  out  of  the  world,  so  far  as  her  memory  of  it  was  con 
cerned,  according  to  her  old  habit,  and  began  walking  up  and 
<iown,  thinking  of  the  unusual  pleasure  of  the  sunshine  in  the  air, 
but  more  of  some  shirts  she  was  making  for  her  grandfather,  sing 
ing  in  an  undertone  to  herself. 

The  Quakeress  looked  after  her  with  a  fond,  quizzical  smile. 

"  The  sky  is  blue,  and  the  sun  shines,  to-day,"  she  said.  "  What 
other  good  news  has  thee  heard,  Rosslyn  ?  " 

Ross  laughed,  but  presently  she  came  and  sat  down  on  a  coil  of 
rope  at  Friend  Blanchard's  feet,  quite  silent  for  a  little  while,  then 
she  looked  up. 

"  You  know  that  story  I  told  you  once  ?  of " 

"  I  know  !  Thee  need  not  name  it,  my  child,"  her  sensitive  old 
face  in  a  tremor,  as  she  stroked  the  girl's  shining  hair.  "  Has  any 
thing  hurt  thee,  Ross  ?  " 

"  James  Strebling  was  that  man.  But  I  do  not  know  him.  It  is 
the  Burley  blood  that  is  in  my  veins,  and  that  is  good  and  pure," 
lifting  her  face  proudly. 

The  next  evening,  when  they  were  sitting  by  the  stove  together, 
Randolph  brought  up  the  subject  of  the  Streblings  again,  but  Ross 
was  not  in  hearing.  The  old  lady  was  in  the  mood  for  gossip. 

"  It  was  a  curious  chance  that  kept  thy  property  out  of  .Teems 
Strebling's  hands,"  she  said. 

Randolph  flushed  as  if  from  a  blow  in  the  face.  "  I  do  not  un 
derstand.  What  claim  had  he  upon  it  ?  " 

"  Thee  has  never  heard  the  story  ?  "  with  surprise.  "  I  am  sorry 
that  I  mentioned  it  then,  Garrick.  No  claim,  in  my  opinion ;  yet  there 
were  many  to  cry  out  at  one  time  that  he  had  not  a  claim,  but  a 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  .  79 

right  to  all  thy  father  had  to  give  thee  outside  of  the  homestead." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Friend  Blanchard  ?  "  uneasily  shifting  his 
position. 

She  poised  her  finger-tips  together,  looking  with  her  black,  bright    * 
eyes  in  the  fire — relish  of  expectation  all  over  her  piquant,  wrinkled     < 
face.     "  It  is  a  long-ago  matter,  and  there  is  no  need  of  filling  thy  ' 
memory  with  old  stories.     But  if  thee  will —     Thy  father  was  no 
favorite  with  his  father,  thee  knows  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  She  had  put  her  finger  on  the  raw  flesh  when 
she  touched  the  inalienable  honor  or  dignity  of  his  family.  Per 
haps  she  knew  it,  for  she  kept  it  there  maliciously. 

"  Coyle  Randolph  was  but  as  other  Southern  boys.  There  was 
nothing  which  I  should  not  tell  to  his  son.  He  had  a  trenchant  wit, 
sang  a  good  song,  drank  good  wine,  betted  heavily  on  his  horse ;  these 
things  are  costly,  thee  knows.  They  cost  his  promise  of  success  at  the 
bar,  they  cost  a  duel  or  two,  and  more  money  than  his  father  would 
furnish,  at  the  last.  I  was  there,  a  young  matron  then,  visiting 
Laura  Page.  It  was  a  miserable  succession  of  duns,  of  tyrannical 
rebuke  on  thy  grandfather's  side,  and  fierce  rebellion  on  his  son's. 
The  end  of  it  was,  that  Coyle  Randolph  left  the  plantation,  swear 
ing  never  to  return,  and  that  day,  while  in  the  heat  of  his  passion, 
his  father  disinherited  him." 

"  He  threatened  it,  you  probably  mean.  The  Randolph  property 
is  large,  but  I  value  it  chiefly  because  it  never  was  alienated  from 
the  direct  line.  It  came  intact  from  father  to  son." 

"  It  was  alienated  that  night,  Garrick.  I  know  it,  because,  un 
willingly  enough,  I  was  one  of  the  witnesses  to  the  will.  By  it  the 
entire  property  was  devised  to  his  nephew,  James  Strebling,  with 
the  exception  of  the  house,  which  belonged  to  Coyle  from  his 
mother.  But  only  the  shell  of  the  house.  The  old.  man  was  merci 
less.  The  old  furniture,  which  for  thee,  Garrick,  is  precious  with 
memories,  the  pictures,  the  plate,  every  trifle  which  gave  the  boy 
name  or  place,  was  taken  from  him.  He  was  left  a  beggar." 

"  It  was  but  a  passing  whim.  How  long  was  it  before  he 
destroyed  the  will  ?  " 

She  hesitated.  "  This  occurred  but  a  month  before  thy  grand 
father's  death.  I  do  not  know  when  he  destroyed  the  will.  He 
died  suddenly,  as  thee  has  heard,  in  the  night,  and  alone.  Up  to 
that  day,  he  had  shown  no  sign  of  relenting." 

Randolph  turned  sharply  a  dull,  perplexed  look  on  her.  "Do 
you  mean  that  the  will —  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  briskly.  "  It  was  muddy  ground  throughout.  I 
never  could  find  a  clean  path  through  it.  The  will  was  in  a  cabinet 
in  thy  grandfather's  chamber,  to  which  only  he  had  access.  He, 
and  his  body-servant,  a  negro  named  Hugh." 

"O,  I  know  Hugh  1"  with  a  look  of  relief,  as  if  he  had  touched 


80  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

land  at  last.  "  Hugh  is  on  the  place  now — he's  a  sort  of  odd  hand, 
carpenter,  locksmith,  what  not.  He  has  a  knack  for  tool*  or 
machinery." 

"  The  same  man.  Well,  when  the  old  man  died,  Hugh  was  in  the 
room  before  any  of  the  household.  Thy  father  was  at  the  county 
races  near  by,  and  reached  home  that  night.  When  search  was  made 
for  the  will,  it  was  gone."  She  had  grown  interested  in  her  own 
story,  and  leaned  forward,  her  eyes  still  on  the  fire,  her  hands  slowly 
tapping  together.  "  The  will  was  gone.  Now,  where  did  it  go  ?  " 
looking  up  abruptly  in  Randolph's  face.  "  Coyle  said  that  it  had 
been  destroyed  when  his  father's  affection  returned  to  him.  But  it 
never  returned.  There  was  no  relenting  to  the  last  day — no  relent 
ing,"  slowly  shaking  her  head. 

"  What  became  of  the  paper,  then  ?  " 

"  Many  persons  believed,"  the  words  dropping  out  slowly,  "that 
the  negro  alone  knew.  He  was  brought  up  with. Coyle,  they  were 
foster-brothers,  indeed,  and  it  was  thought  that,  on  finding  his  mas 
ter  dead,  he  had  made  way  with  the  paper,  and  kept  his  own  coun 
sel." 

The  story  was  a  startling  and  suggestive  one  to  Garrick ;  it  had 
touched  him  deeper  than  he  cared  to  show — touched  him  most,  in 
this  new  picture  of  the  frank-faced,  sturdy  young  fellow  who  sang 
a  good  song,  and  told  a  good  story,  and  betted  and  fought  with  the 
best ;  who  had  been  a  grave,  temperate,  shrill-voiced  old  man  when 
Garrick  had  known  and  loved  him.  He  almost  fancied  he  was 
standing  yonder  in  the  gathering  shadows,  nearer  akin  to  himself 
than  ever  before. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  of  my  father  as  a  young  man,"  he  said, 
with  an  unsteady  smile. .  "  It  is  as  if  he  had  come  back  to  tell  me 
something  of  himself  which  he  had  forgotten  to  do  when  here." 

Abigail  Blanchard's  eyes  lighted  as  she  watched  the  heavy  figure 
of  the  man  opposite  to  her,  his  head  drooped  on  his  chest,  the  red 
firelight  playing  over  the  sensitive,  credulous  face. 

"I  am  thankful," i she  said  energetically,  "that  no  hint  of  such  a 
suspicion  ever  reached  thy  father.  His  idea  of  honor  would, have 
made  him  surrender  the  property  to  James  Strebling,  if  he  had. been 
convinced  the  will  was  destroyed  by  the  negro,  and  not  by  the  old 
man." 

"  Certainly.  What  else  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?  The  property 
must  have  gone  to  Strebling." 

After  a  while,  he  said  slowly,  "  But  few  people  ever  understood 
my  father — there  are  some  men  always  at  odds  with  the  world. 
But  you  interpret  him  rightly,"  his  face  kindling. 

"  Coyle  and  I  were  children  together."  She  said  no  more,  and  he 
sat  motionless,  his  hand  upon  his  mouth ;  nothing  broke  the  silence 
but  the  driving  sleet  against  the  windows  on  the  hurricane  deck 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  8] 

above.  He  took  up  the  tongs  at  last,  and  drove  them  against  the 
wood  in  the  grate,  a  shower  of  fiery  sparks  flickering  out  into  the 
darkness. 

"  Your  story  clings  to  me  like  a  nightmare,"  rising  with  a  forced 
laugh.  "  What  if  James  Strebling  stood  in  my  place — held  even 
my  negroes,  say  ?  Why,  they  have  been  born  and  died  side  by  side 
with  the  Randolphs  for  generations  !  Think  of  Bob  Strebling  the 
master  of  the  garden  my  father  and  mother  planted,  of  the  chairs 
on  which  they  sat,  of  their  faces  on  the  wall,  of  their  dead  bodies 
in  their  graves  ! "  The  thin  cabin  floor  creaked  under  his  heavy 
steps  as  he  paced  up  and  down. 

"  Here  are  the  lights  and  Rosslyn.  Let  the  old  story  go  with  all 
nightmares." 

But  he  walked  on  without  heeding,  stopping  at  last  in  front  of 
her.  "  I  wish  I  had  known  that  fellow  Hugh  had  ever  been  a  favor 
ite  of  my  father's.  He's  had  but  a  rough  berth  of  it  in  his  loft 
over  the  wood-shed,  I'm  afraid.  My  overseer  always  thought  that, 
if  the  worn-out,  out-door  hands  got  their  rations,  it  was  enough, 
without  coddling  them,  and  I  left  matters  to  him  too  much — too 
much.  I've  had  more  hard  study  laid  out  for  me  than  most  men. 
It  was  my  proper  work,  in  fact.  I  put  the  rest  aside." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  turned  to  Rosslyn,  who  came  in  all  aglow 
and  laughing  from  the  cold,  and  bent  down,  holding  out  her  hands 
to  the  blaze. 

For  the  first  time  Randolph  took  no  note  of  her  presence. 
"  That  old  fellow,  Hugh,  had  a  wife  who  belonged  to  Strebling,"  he 
said,  "  and  one  or  two  children — a  boy  about  my  age — Sap.  I  remem 
ber  it  all  now.  They  were  sold  or  died,  I  forget  which ;  at  all  events 
he  never  took  another  wife.  He  has  been  a  silent,  stoop-shouldered 
old  negro,  pottering  about  the  carpenter's  shop  since  I  can  first 
remember.  He  used  to  turn  tops  for  me,  and  rig  my  boats.  But  I 
preferred  to  hang  about  the  other  old  gray-heads,  who  cracked  their 
jokes  or  sang  while  they  rubbed  down  the  horses.  I  wish  I  had 
known  this  fellow  was  a  favorite  of  my  father's." 

"It  is  not  yet  too  late.  Let  the  matter  wait,"  said  Abigail 
Blanchard,  gently. 

She  found  the  simple-hearted  Kentuckian  tedious  at  times.  He 
turned  one  idea  over  and  over,  like  an  overgrown  boy,  until  it 
was  worn  to  shreds.  She  wondered  to  see  how  patiently  Ross 
listened  to  his  prosing.  But  Ross'  palate  was  fresh.  She  had  not 
tasted  so  many  kinds  of  wine  as  the  old  society  gourmand. 

Once,  however,  several  days  afterward,  Randolph's  talk  became 
worse  than  tedious  to  the  girl.  It  cut  her  like  the  lash  of  an 
ox-thong.  It  was  in  reference  to  this  very  subject  of  the  will,  to 
which  he  went  back  uneasily,  day  after  day. 

They  had  reached  Pittsburg,  and   were   standing  on  the  deck 


82  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

wa-tcliing  the  crowd  of  drays  and  workmen  on  the  wharf,  when  he 
pointed  to  a  stolid-looking  porter,  rolling  a  barrel  over  the  plank 
below. 

"  Now,  if  that  will  had  been  found,"  he  said  musingly,  "  I  should 
have  been  as  sheer  a  beggar  as  that  boor.  In  worse  condition, 
perhaps,  for  I  would  have  had  tastes  and  wishes  ungratified,  which 
he  never  knew." 

"  Thee  could  have  earned  thy  bread  and  butter,"  dryly. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  stroking  his  golden  brown  whiskers 
with  his  large  white  hand. 

"  I  never  discovered  the  advantage  which  accrued  to  a  man  from 
the  necessity  of  working  for  his  daily  livelihood.  Whatever  energy 
it  develops  could  have  been  called  out  by  nobler  motives.  The 
mean  economy  and  cares  of  poverty  degrade  a  man.  They  invari 
ably  degrade  a  man,  and  harden  a  woman." 

Rosslyn  turned  sharply.*  The  professor  looked  at  her  with  a 
calm,  reflective  smile.  How  pure  and  soft  were  the  brown  eyes 
suddenly  lifted  to  his !  They  were  new  to  him  every  hour.  Inex 
plicable  meanings  were  those  which  gathered  in  them.  He  went 
below,  muttering  some  line  of  Schiller's,  of  how  that  her  Slick  was 
himmlischmildy  and  some  other  adjectives  which  he  would  not  have 
had  hardihood  to  use  to  himself  in  English. 

Now,  neither  Ross  Burley's  eyes  or  temper  were  himmlischmild 
just  now,  when  the  people  to  whom  she  belonged  were  attacked.  But 
the  unconscious  Randolph,  when  he  joined  them  in  the  depot  while 
they  were  waiting  for  the  train,  half  an  hour  later,  only  thought  how 
pearl-like  her  singular  purity  and  fairness  shone  among  the  coatings 
of  soot,  and  foulness  of  the  room  about  her.  He  directed  her  atten 
tion  to  the  throng  of  men  outside  of  the  wide  door,  cracking  their 
whips,  rolling  barrels  of  oil,  beating  on  the  wheels  of  the  engine. 
He  could  not  let  the  subject  go.  It  was  the  Southern  creed,  after 
all,  which  he  had  drawn  in  with  his  mother's  milk.  "  Talk  of  work 
ing  for  daily  bread  ?  "  he  said.  "  The  more  I  see  of  the  North,  the 
more  I  am  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  a  fixed  aristocracy  for 
this  country.  I  mean  a  class  that  need  not  expend  its  strength  for 
the  means  of  subsistence,  who  can  serve  as  a  model  and  arbiter  for 
the  others.  Such  an  one  can  only  come  from  generations  of  culture. 
There  must  be  thorough  breeding,  from  the  brain,  to  the  motion  of  a 
hand,  or  the  control  of  an  eye.  We  have  chosen  our  rulers  from 
among  tailors  and  rail-splitters  long  enough." 

Ross  Burley's  head  fell  at  that.  There  was  not  a  slip-shod  ser 
vant-girl  or  greasy  porter  hurrying  by,  who  was  not  akin  to  herself 
in  birth  and  breeding.  Usually  she  was  not  slow  to  defend  her 
order ;  what  ailed  her  to-day  that  her  face  lost  all  trace  of  courage, 
and  her  eyes  seemed  weighted  with  dulness  ?  Yet  something  she 
must  say. 


WAITING  FOll  THE  VERDICT.  83 

She  put  her  hand  on  a  little  girl  who  stood  near  her  with  a  basket 
of  musty  cakes,  her  clothes  smeared  with  soot  and  the  rank  oil. 

"  Now,  the  Bourbon  blood  might  be  hidden  even  under  that,"  she 
gaid,  smiling. 

Garrick  gave  the  child  some  money,  and  pushed  her  away. 
"Never.  Coarse  sights  and  sounds,  such  as  her  class  know,  leave 
marks  which  never  wash  away,  Miss  Burley.  Vulgar  training  is 
the  damned  spot  that  will  not  out,  whether  you  put  its  possessor  in 
the  White  House  or  the  Tuileries.  That  is  fact,  theorize  as  you 
please." 

Miss  Burley  made  no  answer.  How  could  she  ?  In  the  market 
and  alleys  where  she  had  lived,  she  had  known  sights  and  sounds 
which  would  bring  a  blush  to  this  young  man's  cheek.  His  mem 
ory  was  like  snow  beside  her  own.  He  had  been  born  heir  to  edu 
cation  and  refinement  which  she  had  coined  the  best  days  of  her 
life  into  hard  cash  to  buy.  And  yet — 

They  were  in  the  train  at  last,  driving  beyond  the  furthest  sub 
urbs,  along  the  narrow,  black  line  that  girdled  the  glittering  ridges 
of  snowy  hills,  and  the  endless  duller  white  slopes  between. 

She  remembered  that  she  had  crossed  the  mountains  through 
yonder  gap  on  a  Winter's  day  like  this,  long  ago.  It  was  a  different 
way  of  travelling,  and  different  company !  Her  heart  swelled 
under  her  jacket,  her  throat  choked.  If  she  could  sit  down  now, 
up  in  her  make-believe  house  in  the  great  Conestoga  wagon,  and  put 
her  head  again  on  the  broad  old  knee ! 

She  thought  of  him  as  she  had  seen  him  down  yonder,  two  weeks 
ago,  in  the  door  of  his  tent,  waving  his  old  hickory  stick  to  her 
good-by ;  and  when  she  ran  back  for  another  kiss  and  hug,  how  Tie 
had  laughed  at  her  ! 

"  Cheer  up,  little  sister !  "  he  said.  "  Yer  grandad  '11  come  safe 
out  of  this  trouble,  you  count  on  that !  Why,  who've  you  got  but 
me  ?  Ther's  just  you  an'  me  in  the  world,  Rossline  !  "  He  broke 
down  at  that,  though  he  laughed  louder.  But  she  had  seen  the 
tears  lodged  in  his  black,  stubbly  cheeks. 

Ross  felt  the  tears  now  on  her  own  face.  She  muffled  herself  up 
in  her  veil.  "  God  counts  him  of  as  noble  birth  as  any  of  them  !  " 
she  cried,  hotly,  to  herself.  The  "  Good  Man,"  as  she  had  called 
Him  long  ago,  was  juster  and  more  liberal !  He  had  another  honor 
by  which  to  test  men  than  learning,  or  their  birth  among  pictures 
and  music,  and  in  the  midst  of  delicate  living.  He  knew  whether 
or  not  the  stains  of  those  old  days  had  gone  into  her  soul,  never  to 
wash  away  !  He  had  been  one  of  her  order ;  it  was  they  by  whom 
He  had  been  loved,  they  watched  Him  at  the  cross,  they  died  for 
Him !  The  earth  was  His  now,  and  the  fulness  thereof— these 
great  slopes — the  snow  that  hid  them — 

Ross,  like  all  unreasoning  women,  lapsed  at  a  touch  from  one 


84  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

depth  of  feeling  to  another.  She  grew  suddenly  quiet ;  her  heart 
filled  with  the  strength,  with  the  very  glow  and  sparkle  of  life.  It 
was  as  if  they  had  pushed  her  into  the  outer  ditch,  and  she  had  found 
Him  there.  She  held  His  very  hands — her  feet  rested  on  His  great 
world  with  her  old  sense  of  firm  right.  It  did  not  matter  so  much 
if  some  of  His  people  were  fouled  in  their  cradles  with  oil  or  with 
vice  ! 

.  Looking  up,  she  saw  Garrick's  earnest,  boyish  eyes  riveted  on  her 
face,  and  smiled  brightly  back  at  him.  She  knew  the  abyss  between 
them  now,  and  she  never  would  suffer  herself  to  forget  it.  With 
her  own  place,  she  was  content. 

Shortly  after  which  he  leaned  back,  and  fell  asleep,  satisfied  that 
he  had  found  some  of  the  "  Bourbon  blood  "  in  the  world,  at  last,  in 
her.  His  own  possession  of  it,  he  never  had  doubted. 

CHAPTER  X. 

AMONG   THE   MOUNTAINS. 

THE  Japanese  thrust  a  gritty  mould  into  the  shell  of  the  oyster, 
which  checks  its  life  slowly.  But  when  the  bloodless  thing  is  dead, 
they  find  in  the  shell  a  pearl  in  the  likeness  of  one  of  their  gods. 
There  is  such  a  mould  thrust  somewhere  into  the  lives  of  all  of  us — 
human  oysters — if  we  only  know  what  use  to  make  of  it.  It  came 
first  to  work  this  "  sea  change  "  in  Garrick  Randolph's  life,  in  a  day 
which  he  spent  among  the  mountains. 

The  matter  was  ordinary  enough.  The  snow  had  drifted  into  the 
ravines,  and  half  a  dozen  transportation  trains  lay  blocked  at  Har- 
risburg,  filled  with  troops.  This  was  on  the  24th  of  December. 

"  I  will  not  take  Rosslyn  further  until  the  way  is  clear,"  Friend 
Blanchard  said,  decisively.  "  There  is  a  village  two  miles  before  us 
where  the  mountains  are  gathered  in  as  solemn  state  as  the  dead  kings 
in  Hades.  We  will  spend  our  Christmas  at  Rockville." 

Randolph  assented  courteously,  secretly  chafing,  according  to 
the  manner  of  men,  at  being  checked  in  the  middle  of  his  journey. 
The  Quakeress  was  a  charming  old  woman,  and  Miss  Burley  as 
charming  in  another  view.  But  he  had  left  home  to  do  a  man's 
work.  Was  he  to  spend  his  life  dallying  by  their  sides,  gipsying 
through  the  country  in  this  fashion  ? 

They  stopped  at  a  little  lath  and  plaster  house,  looking  like  a 
rabbit's  burrow,  under  one  of  the  mountains.  Rosslyn  was  sent 
inside  to  treat  with  the  woman. 

"  Miss  Burley  is  skilful  at  managing  those  people,"  said  Garrick 
loftily.  "  She  speaks  to  everybody  in  their  own  patois,  like  a  born 
diplomat." 

"She  looks  at  everybody  through  their  best  trait,  so  all  tho 
world  stands  at  ease  with  her,"  said  the  old  lady,  sharply. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  85 

There  were  only  women  to  treat  with ;  the  men  were  gone  to'the 
war.  They  were  not  sorry  to  make  a  little  money,  or  to  find 
Christmas  coming  to  the  gate  with  such  an  unexpected  jolly 
face.  They  gave  up  their  two  or  three  rooms,  clean  and  bare  and 
cold,  and  went  to  work  with  zest,  to  build  great  fires  in  them, 
and  to  bring  out  their  sheets  and  blue  woolen  counterpanes  to 
spread  on  the  piled  feather  beds.  Besides,  Ross'  good  humor 
and  delight  were  infectious.  The  whole  little  house  began  to 
glow,  what  with  the  novel  warmth,  and  flash  of  the  fires,  and  her 
fun  and  laughter,  up  stairs  and  down.  "  She  believed  Christmas 
himself  lived  among  these  mountains,"  she  told  the  old  lady,  rub 
bing  her  hands,  and  turning  out  the  contents  of  the  valise  to  find 
her  a  looser  house  dress,  her  eyes  dancing.  She  went  out  with 
Jane,  the  whey-skinned,  sour-looking  house-daughter,  to  find  a 
monster  turkey  in  some  of  the  neighboring  farm-houses,  and 
brought  her  home,  both  of  them  laden,  their  faces  red  and  bright. 
Jane's  mother,  who  was  over  the  stove,  her  skirt  tucked  up,  cook 
ing  a  famous  supper,  made  an  excuse  to  bring  her  into  the  little 
kitchen  (as  clean  as  a  Shaker  meeting-house)  so  that  grandmother 
might  hear  her  voice. 

"  And  her  face  is  just  as  sweet,"  said  Mrs.  Baldwin,  as  she  put 
on  the  griddles  for  the  batter-cakes.  "  It's  got  the  genooine  look 
in  it,  besides  the  pink  and  white  and  the  yallar  hair.  Our  Jane 
might  have  bin  like  her  if  she'd  had  that  bringin  up." 

"  Seems  as  if  I'd  heerd  that  v'ice  afore,"  said  the  old  woman, 
clicking  her  knitting-needles  slower,  "  an'  I'm  never  mistaken  in  a 
v'ice.  Seems  as  if  I'd  heerd  that  afore." 

Rosslyn  went  out  again,  her  curls  thrust  up  under  a  woolen  cap, 
to  the  pine  forest  about  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  came  back 
laden  with  branches  of  cedar,  the  scarlet  fire-bush,  and  long  wreaths 
of  green,  delicate  colt's  foot.  She  made  two  or  three  journeys, 
Jane  helping  her,  and  then  they  tacked  it  up  about  the  little  parlor. 

When  Garrick  came  down  for  tea,  between  the  green  wreathing 
the  walls,  and  the  still,  glowing  bed  of  coals  in  the  grate,  and  the 
white  little  supper-table  in  the  middle,  and  the  vine-draped  win 
dows  framing  the  wild,  desolate  landscape  without,  the  quiet  wait 
ing-room  was  as  warm  and  heartsome  a  home  picture  as  one  would 
Bee  in  a  lifetime.  It  touched  him  oddly,  with  as  much  annoyance 
as  pleasure.  This  girl  carried  home  about  with  her,  he  believed. 
He  had  no  mind  just  now  to  believe  anything  to  her  credit,  or  to 
think  of  her  in  any  way.  He  had  been  nervous  and  irritable  during 
the  last  two  days,  angry  as  a  fly  who  fears  its  feet  are  caught  in  the 
web.  This  woman,  or  any  woman,  was  nothing  to  him,  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  stood  there  waiting.  If  they  had  gone  on,  he  would 
have  bidden  her  good-by  in  Philadelphia  by  this  time,  and  there 
would  have  been  the  end  of  it.  His  twinge  of  pain  at  the  thought 
but  made  him  angrier. 


86  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

He  was  not  going  to  marry  a  brown  eye,  and  pink  cheek !  He 
was  a  man  of  long  experience  and  reflection.  He  had  his  ideal  of 
a  wife,  his  rules  of  the  birth,  and  training,  and  character-requisites. 
Unalterable  rules ;  and  just  then,  the  supper  came  in.  Jane  told 
him  that  the  Quaker  lady  was  tired  and  cold,  and  would  take  tea  in 
her  own  room. 
^"MissBurley?" 

Miss  Burley  was  out. 

He  walked  hastily  to  the  window.  The  great  shadows  of  the 
mountains  had  brought  twilight  already  over  the  white  wastes  of 
snow,  marked  here  and  there  only  by  a  sunken  fence  or  a  brown 
stream  creeping  down  to  the  river. 

Where  was  she  ?  It  was  a  lonely,  hill  country.  Even  if  there 
were  no  danger,  she  was  but  a  childish,  superstitious  girl,  he  thought, 
and  would  be  frightened  at  the  solitude,  and  these  uncanny  shadows. 
He  went  to  the  door,  anxiously,  but  saw  her  at  that  moment 
coming  slowly  up  the  road.  Then  he  went  hurriedly  back  to  the 
fire ;  he  had  done  all  that  courtesy  demanded ;  but  he  bent  over  so 
that  he  could  watch  every  step  which  brought  her  nearer.  Her 
most  careless  motion  always  seemed  to  him  as  if  it  kept  time  to  some 
music  which  he  could  not  hear. 

Presently  she  came  in.  He  had  never  seen  her  in  a  house  dress 
before.  The  loosened  curls,  the  soft,  sweeping  folds  of  clear  blue, 
the  lace,  like  foam  about  her  arching  throat — well,  it  was  a  novel, 
pretty  picture — what  more?  If  Ross  had  heeded  him,  she  would 
have  thought  the  professor  grim  and  peevish  under  his  heavy 
politeness ;  but  she  did  not  notice  him  further  than  by  a  friendly 
smile.  The  shadow  of  the  mountains  was  on  her ;  she  was  silent 
and  subdued. 

Randolph  placed  her  chair  at  the  table,  moved  it  again,  nervously, 
opposite  to  his  own.  He  wondered  if  she  remembered  that  it  was 
the  first  time  they  had  ever  been  alone  together ;  he  wondered  if 
she  remembered  that  she  had  saved  his  life  ? 

When  she  sat  down  behind  the  little  coffee  urn,  and  began  to  fill 
his  cup,  he  thought  that  if  his  ideal  wife  had  ever  been  found,  she 
would  probably  have  filled  the  central  place  in  this  scene  to-day. 
She  was  to  have  been  an  olive-skinned,  fragile  woman,  with  coils  of 
black  hair,  and  a  Greek  nose.  She  would  have  been  southern  in 
birth  and  feeling ;  sensible ;  taking  an  interest  in  science.  She  never 
would  have  run  with  infidel  Abolitionists  or  haunted  the  terminus 
of  an  underground  railway. 

Ross  was  quiet,  indifferent ;  the  novel  pleasure  of  the  day  waa 
gone,  apparently,  for  her.  He  saw  her  glance  now  and  then  out  at 
the  graying  valley  below,  where  the  dumb  river  lay  motionless  and 
patient  under  the  drifting  sleet,  while  the  black,  gigantic  mountains 
shouldered  each  other,  looking  down. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  87 

"  They  seem  like  ghosts  crowding  about  a  grave,"  she  thought, 
with  a  shiver. 

He  noted  the  darkening  trouble  in-her  eye  with  a  fierce  jealousy. 
What  was  she  thinking  of?  What  did  he  know  of  the  million 
fancies  and  plans  under  that  broad  forehead ;  what  her  hopes  were, 
whom  she  hated — or — loved  ?  He  was  not  of  her  kind ;  he  had  never 
even  looked  into  the  world  she  lived  in ;  he  was  but  an  awkward 
book-worm ;  he  had  wasted  over  retorts  and  crucibles  the  years 
that  might  have  made  him  a  man  worthy  to  be  her  friend.  He  did 
not  know  why  he  should  address  her  coldly  and  formally,  making 
every  little  courtesy  of  the  table  seem  a  covert  rap  intended  to  keep 
her  at  her  proper  distance ;  but  he  did  it,  and  Ross,  after  a  look  of 
mild  surprise,  lapsed  into  silence,  the  look  in  her  eyes  growing 
more  absent  as  she  ate  her  supper,  and  watched  the  melancholy 
clouds  gather  about  the  pale,  watery  sunset. 

An  acute  pain  shot  through  his  temples  as  he  gulped  down  his 
strong  coffee.  He  went  on,  according  to  his  habit,  turning  the  one 
idea  over,  and  over,  although  it  was  one  that  tortured  him.  He 
never  had  known  her  true  self — he  never  would.  He  was  at  liberty 
to  look  at  the  fair  mask  of  hair,  and  eyes,  and  color,  and  to  admire 
it:  any  boor  on  the  street  could  do  the  same.  But  for  her  secret 
thought,  her  confidence,  her  love — she  held  them  hid  away,  kept  for 

their  master He  choked :  the  drops  he  was  swallowing  grew 

bitter  as  gall  to  him.     He  resolutely  bent  his  head,  and  when  she 
spoke  to  him,  answered  with  averted  eyes. 

The  little  fire  crackled,  the  sleet,  blown  by  the  wind,  struck 
sharply  on  the  window  pane :  they  fell  into  silence.  In  a  word,  tho 
professor  was  struggling  desperately  to  recover  his  old  self.  His 
senses  were  for  the  moment  cleared,  and  he  saw  a  diiferent  man 
taking  possession,  as  it  were,  of  his  body ;  where  were  his  reason, 
his  prudence,  his  unalterable  rules  vanishing  ?  The  heat,  the  jeal 
ous  passion  that  fevered  and  racked  his  brain,  alarmed  and  disgusted 
him.  The  old  fastidious,  complacent  spirit  was  not  so  far  dead  in 
him,  that  it  could  not  sneer  at  the  new  comer  angry  and  resentful. 

He  had  meant  some  day  to  fall  in  love,  and  to  marry.  All  men 
did  so.  But  there  should  first  have  be6n  an  acquaintance  of  a  year 
at  least ;  love  should  have  been  based  on  a  thorough  respect,  a  keen 
sympathy  in  all  tastes  and  opinions — 

What  was  she  thinking  of  now  ?  The  dark  pupils  of  her  eyes 
widened,  and  her  forehead  knitted  as  if  she  held  back  tears.  She 
rose  with  some  trivial  apology — she  was  going  away  indifferently ; 
what  did  it  matter  to  her  that  they  were  alone  for  the  first  time  ? 
that  the  great  silent  mountains,  the  deserts  of  snow,  even  the  little, 
warm,  cheerful  room  seemed  to  shut  them  in  from  the  world. 

They  two,  alone,  together. 

Ross  was  not  going  away.     She  only  went  to  the  window.     She 


88  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

liad  hard  work  to  keep  back  the  troublesome  tears,  as  he  guessed: 
tears,  however,  with  which  love  and  lovers  had  noil  dug  whatever 
to  do. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  awful  solitude  of  the  place  oppressed 
her;  and  the  gloom,  the  silence  in  which  these  great  monarchs  of 
the  world  had  stood  for  ages  together.  The  snow,  too,  whose  gray 
reservoirs,  without  a  sound,  had  flooded  the  sky,  blotting  it  out, 
was  not  the  old,  familiar  snow  of  which  she  had  been  used  to  make 
balls  or  giants,  long  ago,  in  the  days  of  Joe  and  the  old  Conestoga. 
This  was  the  very  realm. of  silence  and  of  sorrow.  Now  Ross,  in 
the  grain,  was  a  practical  little  body ;  she  had  to  find  for  the 
vague  trouble  in  her  mind  a  reasonable  cause.  So  it  came  to  pass 
while  she  was  eating  her  supper  that  she  was  picturing  the  miserable 
Christmas  that  her  grandfather  would  spend,  wishing  she  had  found 
a  larger  turkey  to  go  in  the  box  which  she  sent  him  from  Louisville. 
She  had  a  plan  for  next  Christmas — if  the  war  was  over — and  it 
was  the  thought  of  that  next  Christmas,  which  brought  the  tears 
up,  and  made  her  go  to  the  window  lest  she  should  be  suspected  of 
crying. 

Garrick  followed  her.  They  stood  side  by  side ;  he  looked  down 
at  the  tender  curve  of  her  mouth,  the  truth-telling  eyes.  Wh} 
should  he  leave  her  to  be  the  wife  of  another  man  ?  What  if  he 
were  awkward,  and  almost  a  stranger  to  her?  She  came  so  near— 
so  near.  Her  look,  her  little  shy  ways,  her  voice,  were  all  akin  V 
him — belonged  to  his  own  soul,  his  own  long  solitude  and  silence, 
as  if  they  two  stood  alone  in  a  foreign  world,  far  from  their  native 
country. 

Love  ?  At  the  first  bold  entrance  of  the  thought,  a  great  quiet 
came  to  him,  a  delicious  repose ;  it  was  as  if  the  checked  current, 
seething  against  its  barrier,  angry  and  turbid,  had  broken  through 
at  last,  and  spread  gently  over  a  land  which  would  be  forever  green 
and  sunny. 

If  she  never  loved  him,  if  they  parted  there  never  to  meet,  it 
would  not  undo  this  which  was  done.  He  loved  her.  Now,  in  truo 
love,  there  is  always  a  great  content  and  completeness,  though  it 
starve  and  die  unreturned,  knowing  that,  in  some  world  beyond 
this,  the  recompense  is  sure. 

When  Garrick  heard  Rosslyn  speak,  he  listened  as  if  to  inarticu 
late  music.  It  surprised  him,  when  he  came  out  of  the  depth  of  his 
own  emotion,  to  find  that  she  was  talking  of  nothing  but  the  grass 
outside.  She  knew  nothing  of  him  or  his  love — she  might  nevei 
care  to  know. 

"  The  seed-grass  looks  like  pearl-sprays  with  this  hoar-frost  on 
it,"  she  said ;  "  and  see  this  brier,"  throwing  up  the  window  to 
break  a  twig  of  "it.  When  she  turned  to  show  him  how  the  thorns 
were  sheathed  in  ice,  her  moist  eyes  were  yet  heavy,  her  cheeks 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  89 

flushed — the  hoar-frost  had  showered  from  the  shaken  bush  in  glit 
tering  sparks  over  her  golden  maze  of  hair. 

He  took  the  bough  mechanically,  and  gave  it  back,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  her  face. 

"Miss  Burley"  (his  voice  surprised  himself,  it  was  so  quiet  and 
grave),  "  once,  when  I  first  .knew  you,  I  said  that,  if  ever  I  spoke 
with  you  alone,  I  would  tell  you  that  I  knew  what  you  had  done 
for  me,  and  that  I  did  not  forget  it." 

Ross  drew  down  her  brows,  perplexed.  "  O,  you  mean  the  drive 
from  the  ford  ?  " 

He  colored.     "  It  saved  my  life." 

"  I  would  have  done  as  much  for  any  one.  I  incurred  no  risk. 
Besides,  it  is  Pitt  who  deserves  your  thanks,  if  any  are  due." 

She  stood,  playing  with  her  frosted  twig,  an  invisible  wall  of  ice 
about  her ;  no  passion  or  force  of  his,  he  thought,  could  break  it 
down. 

And  indeed,  beyond  looks,  the  meaning  of  which  Rosslyn  was 
too  slow-witted  to  interpret,  the  professor  had  treated  the  young 
girl,  so  far,  with  the  just,  mild  consideration  which  he  used  to  his 
pupils ;  he  was  a  painstaking,  somewhat  patronizing  protector,  but 
no  more. 

What  her  secret  idea  of  him  was  by  this  time,  only  she  knew,  or 
ever  will  know ;  whether  she  still  thought  of  him  as  Greatheart, 
and  herself  as  Mercy,  or  whether  she  shrewdly  suspected  him  of 
being  a  prig  and  a  pedant. 

Finding  that  she  continued  silent,  having  forgotten,  apparently, 
all  that  he  had  said,  Garrick  forced  an  unsteady  laugh,  though  there 
was  no  laugh  in  the  grave,  anxious  eyes  looking  over  her  head  at 
the  whitened  window  panes. 

" In  the  old  romances,"  he  said, '"the  adventure  always  begins 
by  the  rescue  of  the  maiden's  life  by  the  knight.  A  life  saved 
serves  a  good  purpose  in  the  opening  of  a  story." 

"  What  good  purpose  ?  "  she  said,  carelessly.  "  To  the  story,  I 
mean  ?  " 

Randolph  paused.  "  It  breaks  down  the  barriers  of  ceremony, 
the  insincere  rules  of  society — sweeps  them  away  as  prolix  rubbish. 
It  gives  to  the  story  the  chance  of  a  fairer  ending."  His  voice  sank 
meaningly.  "  They  stand  together  no  longer  knight  and  maiden,  but 
face  to  face  as  man  and  woman." 

She  turned,  startled  at  the  change  in  his  tone,  and  as  she  listened 
an  astonished  pain  gathered  in  her  face. 

"  The  bond  between  them  removes  them  into  a  world  of  truth 
and  reality — " 

She  moved — he  put  out  his  hand  to  detain  her,  raising  his  voice 
hurriedly — "  Into  a  world  where  there  is  something'  deeper  than  the 
courtesy  and  badinage  which  you  and  I  have  known — hate  and 
love." 


90  .      WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Ross  stood  silent  a  moment.  There  were  times  when  she  had  the 
power  of  great  reticence ;  her  simple,  serious  manner,  which  openly 
eaid,  "  Thus  far  I  go,  but  no  further,"  was  to  a  man  like  Randolph 
an  impregnable  barrier. 

"  We  have  been  taught  in  different  schools,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"Now,  to  me  the  forms  of  society  are ,  altogether  useful,  and  not 
insincere.  They  would  be  a  pleasanter  bond  than  any  uneasy  sense 
of  gratitude — to  me." 

"  You  wish  me  to  forget  what  I  owe  to  you,  then  ?  "  abruptly. 

"  You  owe  me  so  little  ! "  with  a  slight  gesture  of  her  fingers,  a& 
if  she  threw  something  away.  "But  if  it  were  more — Friend 
Blanchard  would  tell  you  that  there  was  no  yoke  so  light  or  so 
galling  as  that  of  gratitude.  And  as  for  me,  I  should  not  wish  to  be 
compelled  to  choose  as  my  friend  for  life  the  man  who  chanced  to 
drag  me  out  of  the  under-tow  or  the  burning  house.  He  might  not 
be  at  all  a  comfortable  companion  with  whom  to  walk  in  your  world 
of  realities." 

He  was  in  no  humor  for  jest.  For  the  first  time,  she  found  his 
indolent  face  stern  and  immovable.  She  tried  to  pass  him,  but  he 
did  not  perceive  her. 

"  See  !  "  moving  her  hand  as  though  she  lifted  something  from  his 
shoulders.  "  I  take  off  all  weight  of  gratitude  to  me.  You  shall 
not  impose  any  yoke  upon  yourself  if  I  can  help  it.  I  must  go  to 
bid  Friend  Blanchard  good-night,  now." 

"  One  moment,  Miss  Burley — " 

Ross  drew  back;  when  she  saw  how  earnest  he  was,  she  stood 
quite  still,  her  breath  coming  quicker,  and  her  face  a  little  pale. 
Garrick  read  it  with  a  keen  impatience.  It  angered  him  that  she 
did  not  comprehend  his  feeling  and  respond  to  it,  though,  in  truth, 
the  suddenness  of  its  heat  and  passion  startled  himself.  Since  he 
was  a  child,  every  shade  of  opinion  or  emotion  which  he  chose  to 
express  had  been  watched  and  discussed  with  eager  interest  by  his 
father  or  Aunt  Laura.  Now,  at  this  great  crisis  of  his  life,  when 
his  very  soul,  he  thought,  was  going  out  into  an  untried  existence, 
he  was  left  alone,  and  the  woman  for  whom  he  risked  all  stood  by, 
blind  and  indifferent.  It  was  therefore  more  the  petted  old  bach 
elor,  grown  stiff  in  his  own  habits  and  whims,  that  spoke  to  Ross- 
lyn  again,  than  the  boy  beneath,  who,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
was  learning  to  love. 

"  It  is  impossible  that  you  do  not  understand  me,"  he  said,  petu 
lantly.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  force  my  gratitude  on  you.  The  service 
probably  was  nothing  to  you,  but  it  imported  much  to  me  and  to 
those  who  care  for  me.  But  I  have  no  wish  to  force  my  gratitude 
. — no.  It  was  another  desire.  I  express  myself  ill — I  have  known 
BO  few  women — having  lived  so  much  alone,"  he  hesitated,  and  then 
caught  her  frank,  brown  eyes  resting  curiously  on  his. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  91 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  gently.  "  I  am  both  dull  and  blunt,  my 
grandfather  says.  You  must  use  blunt  words  to  me.  Can  I  serve 
you  again,  Mr.  Randolph  ?  " 

Garrick  laughed ;  a  cordial,  eager  laugh  ;  something  in  the 
straightforward,  earnest  eyes  had  called  his  manhood  up  alert  and 
strong  ;  there  was  no  hesitation  now — 

"  You  can  serve  me,  surely.  You  talked  a  moment  ago  of  choos 
ing  a  friend — choose  me.  Let  us  find  some  quiet  path  in  that  world 
of  realities,  and  go  walking  in  it  together,  testing  the  world  and 
testing  each  other.  What  do  you  say?"  holding  out  his  hand, 
forgetting  to  smile  in  his  grave  eagerness. 

She  did  not  speak,  though  her  lips  moved  once  or  twice.  She 
watched  him.  searchingly,  doubting  her  own  idea  of  his  meaning. 

"  I  know  so  little,"  he  said,  "  of  any  world  where  men  and  women 
dare  to  show  themselves  to  each  other'  as  God  made  them.  I  have 
lived  among  books,  among  acids  and  salts.  I  have  had  no  friend 
ships  nor  loves  among  women,  as  other  young  men.  I  have  looked 
at  them  through  a  kind  of  religious  glamour  as  men  did  in  the  old 
chivalric  days.  Suffer  me  to  be  your  friend.  Suffer  me  to  come 
near  you." 

Ross  was  looking  wistfully  out  of  the  window.  She  gave  a  queer, 
absent  little  nod.  "  My  friend  ?  My  friend  ?  I  know  how  that 
would  end — I  know." 

Randolph  bent  forward,  his  eager,  breathless  lips  apart.  "  I  only 
ask  to  be  your  friend — now,"  in  a  gentle,  explanatory  voice,  as  if  he 
talked  to  a  child.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  urge  you,  or  to  be  coarse,  or 
rough.  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  said  even  this  until  you  were 
under  the  shelter  of  your  own  home — I  know  how  much  it  is  for  me 
to  ask.  But  you  have  seemed  so  near,  so  different  from  all  other 
women,"  looking  away  from  her  ;  talking  to  himself  of  her.  "  And 
I  am  not  made  of  stone." 

He  said  no  more,  watching  the  erect  little  figure,  the  sweet  yet 
strong  face  turned  full  toward  the  only  light  in  the  room.  There 
wereMio  shy  blushes  nor  smiles  on  it:  on  the  contrary,  he  fancied  it 
had  a  worn,  shrunken  look  in  the  last  few  moments  which  he  had 
never  seen  before ;  yet,  never  had  it  seemed  to  him  so  womanly  or 
so  helpless. 

Now,  in  that  moment  there  was  a  curious  remembrance  strong  in 
her  mind. 

Ross  Burley  lived  in  the  hearts  of  a  great  many  men  and  women ; 
her  life  was  too  healthy  and  sunny  and  full  of  affection  not  to  have 
drawrn  toward  it  many  weaker,  hungrier  natures.  She  gave  to  them 
as  a  hill  spring  gives  water,  lavishly,  without  money  and  without 
price.  But  from  love  such  as  she  read  in  this  man's  face,  when  it 
had  come  to  her  before,  she  had  turned  away,  pained  and  dumb. 
She  never  talked  of  it,  or  of  marriage,  to  the  young  girls  who  were 


92  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

her  companions  ;  their  chatter  seemed  coarse  and  worldly.  But  one 
night  long  ago,  sitting  by  her  grandfather  on  the  fioor,  she  had 
spoken  to  him  of  it ;  gravely,  as  she  might  of  her  dead  mother  or 
of  Christ ;  it  was  that  night  which  she  thought  of  now. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  love  is,"  she  had  said.  "  But  neither  do 
these  men.  No ;  they  do  not  know ! "  shaking  her  head  as  she 
looked  in  the  fire. 

Old  Joe  smoked  his  pipe  out  slowly  before  he  answered  her,  then 
he  spoke  in  an  uncertain  way,  thrusting  his  finger  in  the  bowl. 

"  Some  day  you'll  know,  Rossline.  I'll  be  glad  when  I've  heerd 
that  day  has  come,  although —  I'll  be  glad — for  you  see  a  woman's 
veins  is  jest  half  dried  up  without  husband  and  child  of  her  own." 
He  stopped  a  moment,  and  then  lifting  her  face  by  the  chin,  looked 
her  steadily  in  the  eyes  as  be  said,  "  Rossline,  ef  that  day  ever 
should  come,  remember  that  them  as  love  is  born  agin.  You've 
ben  different  from  others ;  there's  bin  hurts  you've  had.  Ye're  to 
leave  all  behind — all.  Ye're  to  take  no  smut  nor  stain  to  him  as 
calls  you.  Cleavin'  unto  him,  says  the  Good  Man,  an'  forsakin' 
father  an'  mother  an'  house.  Rossline,  that'll  mean  yer  grandad 
along  with  the  rest."  She  had  laughed  at  the  time. 

But  he  had  not  laughed;  had  grimly  knocked  the  ashes  Out  of 
his  pipe,  and  after  a  while  had  drawn  her  on  'to  his  knee,  saying, 
"Ye're  mine  yet,  Sweetheart.  But  ye're  to  put  me  away  with  the 
rest.  Mind  them  words  of  mine.  Maybe  some  day  they'll  make 
yer  way  clear." 

Why  did  all  this  come  to  Ross  Burley,  now  ?  This  man  had 
only  offered  her  friendship,  yet  no  lover  that  had  sued  to  her  had  so 
challenged  the  very  secrets  of  her  so^il.  She  struggled  against  ex 
posure,  she  would  not  have  her  inmost  fancies  dragged  to  the  light 
thus.  But  before  all  other  thoughts,  were  her  grandfather's  words 
on  that  night.  She  understood  them  at  last.  Was  the  time  ever  to 
come  when  she  must  choose  between  him  and  any  other  ?  , 

She  roused  herself  with  a  sort  of  shiver  when  Randolph's  face 
came  between  her  and  the  light. 

"  You  will  suffer  me  to  be  your  friend  ?  What  if  we  learned  to 
know  each  other  in  all  sincerity,  face  to  face.  It  would  but — " 

She  threw  up  her  hand  hastily.     He  stopped. 

„  "  It  is  a  very  ordinary  thing  that  you  ask,  I  know.  Most  women 
form  such  compacts.  But  I  am  a  stranger  to  you.  What  do  you 
know  of  me  ?  " 

All  that  there  was  to  know,  came  freshly  to  her  with  the  words ; 
the  misery,  the  shame  that  began  before  she  was  born ;  the  years 
of  abject  poverty;  the  years  of  struggle,  every  one  of  which,  how 
ever  praiseworthy  in  itself,  would  be  an  iron  bar  between  her  and 
this  man. 

"It  is  too  early  to  ask  for  friendship,"  she  said,  turning  away; 
"  there  is  too  much  to  learn  of  me." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  93 

"  For  leave  to  learn  it,  then  ?  "  with  a  quick  step  forward.  "  See ; 
my  life  is  open  to  you,  every  day  of  it — and  my  thoughts ;  they  are 
both  weak  and  trivial  enough,  God  knows.  But  I  think  that  some 
thing  has  entered  into  them  which  will  make  them  noble  and  true — if 
it  will  stay." 

Ross  blushed  and  laughed  nervously.  After  all,  she  was  childish 
in  some  things,  and  his  honest,  awkward  gestures,  his  earnest,  boy 
ish  eyes  touched  her  home.  And  then  it  was  so  difficult  for  her  to 
feel  always  guilty  for  James  Strebling's  crime.  He  only  asked  to 
be  her  friend,  what  right  had  she  to  deny  him  ?  But  he  should  be 
warned. 

"  I  cannot  forbid  you  to  stand  nearer,  or  to  criticise  me,"  she 
said.  "  But  it  is  better  that  men  and  women  should  look  at  each 
other  always  through  your  religious  glamour,  I  think.  When  they 
come  face  to  face,  they  see " 

"  They  see — what  ?  " 

"  Stains,  which  no  water  will  wash  away." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  after  a  moment's  startled  pause. 
'  But  the  bitter  emphasis  was  gone  already  from  her  good-tempered, 
happy  face.     "  No  matter.     Let  me  go  now.     Give  me  time.     But 
if  you  will  read  one  line,  you  shall  read  all.     I  will  keep  nothing 
back." 

He  did  not  seem  .to  hear  her,  but  stood  listening  with  an  indul 
gent  smile,  as  to  a  child's  talk.  Once  he  stooped,  and  took  the 
branch  of  brier  from  her,  with  a  hungry  impulse  to  hold  something 
which  she  had  touched.  When  he  breathed  carelessly  on  it,  the 
silvery  crust  of  frost  disappeared  from  the  stem  and  seed  vessels, 
and  trickled  down,  soiling  his  hand.  He  threw  it  away. 

Ross  nodded  to  it  meaningly.  "You  brought  it  too  close.  There 
is  nothing  of  it  now  but  a  broken  bough,  and  a  blot  of  muddy 
water.  You  are  warned." 

He  laughed  triumphantly.     "  I  am  not  afraid." 

But  Ross  looked  down  at  it  again,  as  if  it  bore  for  her  some  pe 
culiar  meaning. 

"  I  do  not  like  ill  omens,"  she  said,  gravely,  at  which  Garrick 
smiled  again  complacently.  Her  little  whims  and  ignorances  were 
very  charming  in  his  eyes. 

When  she  went  away,  he  accompanied  her,  holding  the  door  open, 
with  his  usual  stately  politeness,  bowing  low. 

"  Good  night,  my  friend." 

"  Good  night." 

He  did  not  offer  his  hand  .again.  She  was  glad  of  that.  How  he 
had  thrown  down  the  bit  of  brier  under  foot,  when  it  only  smirched 
his  fingers  !  He  should  know  whose  hand  hers  was  before  he  touched 
it  again.  She  walked  heavily  up  the  stairs,  thinking  how  once  the 
man  whose  child  she  was,  had  drawn  on  his  dainty  gloves  because 
her  finders  smelled  of  fish-brine. 


94  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

When  she  came  to  her  own  room,  ske  stopped,  leaning  her  hea<i 
and  arms  on  the  bureau,  looking  into  the  square  "bit  of  glass.  Was 
it  her  fault  that  she  had  been  born  poor,  and  with  these  damned 
spots  on  her  which  nothing  would  take  away  ?  She  looked  at  the 
clear-cut,  delicate  face,  at  the  reasonable  soul  in  her  eyes.  After 
she  had  made  herself  this,  was  she  to  give  up  all  the  chance  of  life  ? 
Were  these  men,  father  and  lover,  to  thrust  her  aside  for  that  which 
was  no  crime  of  hers  ? 

Yet  as  she  looked,  a  comfort  began  to  come  to  her  from  her  own 
features.  "  Nature  stamped  me  a  Burley,"  she  said.  "  I  thank 
God  for  that."  She  began  to  make  ready  to  pay  her  nightly 
visit  to  Friend  Blanchard,  and:  as  she  moved  about,  her  grand 
father's  old  words  came  to  her  persistently,  how  that  the  day  would 
some  time  come  when  she  would  choose  to  leave  him  behind.  Him, 
and  the  old  life  of  which  he  was  a  part. 

"  That  day  will  never  come,"  said  Ross  Burley.     "  Never." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    RECORD    OF   A   LIFE. 

FRIEND  Blanchard  sat  reading  by  a  lamp  in  her  little  chamber. 
The  one  square  window  was  uncurtained,  and  outside,  a  single 
white  mountain  peak  glowered  down  on  her  through  the  night,  like 
a  solitary  spectre,  keeping  watch.  At  another  time  the  solitude,  and 
the  terrors  of  the  night  and  mountain  would  have  been  subjects  to 
appreciate  and  enjoy,  as  she  would  the  tragic  music  of  the  march 
of  men  going  to  battle,  but  now  she  had  something  else  to  think  of. 
She  had  heard  the  faint  murmur  of  voices  below,  then  Rosslyn's 
foot  upon  the  stairs.  When  she  passed  into  her  own  chamber,  the 
old  lady  laid  down  her  book,  her  eyes  kindling  under  their  black 
brows  as  she  watched  the  door  impatiently. 

When  the  tap  for  which  she  waited  came,  however,  and  Rosa 
entered,  she  began  to  read  placidly,  after  a  keen  glance  at  her. 

"  There  is  thy  chair,  my  child." 

In  the  long  silence  that  followed,  the*  older  woman  looked  at  the 
young  one  once  or  twice,  furtively,  as  she  turned  a  page. 

"  I  think  it  has  come,"  she  thought,  with  a  jealous,  fierce  contrac 
tion  of  her  mouth  and  nostrils.  Her  love  for  the  girl  was  something 
between  a  mother's  sense  of  possession,  and  the  gallant  admiration 
of  a  man.  She  scanned  again  and  again  the  figure  by  the  fire,  with 
the  soft,  white  folds  of  the  woolen  wrapper  falling  about  it,  the 
wavy,  golden  hair  knotted  back,  the  blue-veined,  bare  feet  thrust 
into  slippers.  "  Randolph  has  spoken  to  her.  There  is  a  look  in 
her  face  that  was  never  there  before.  Rosslyn  is  gone  out  of  my 
world,"  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  95 

But  her  eyes  ached.  She  put  her  book  down,  and  unpinned  her 
cap  strings.  She  had  not  known  how  much  of  her  daily  bread  this 
girl  had  furnished  in  the  last  eleven  years.  And  old  age  is  hungry. 
When  the  cap  was  laid  aside,  she  stood  up  suddenly,  and,  going 
over  to  her,  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  Ross  smiled, 
but  the  color  came  to  the  faces  of  both  women. 

"  You  never  kissed  me  before." 

"  No.  Women  disgust  me  with  their  indiscriminate  fondlings. 
Thy  person  was  thine  own.  But  thee  has  been  as  dear  to  me,  Ross, 
as  the  child  of  my  own  body." 

"  I  was  not  that.  I  owe  you  more  than  birth,  I  think.  You 
made  me,  after  the  fashion  in  which  Caspar  Hauser  was  made  by 
those  who  found  him." 

"  Rosslyn  ?  " 

She  put  her  hand  on  Ross'  forehead,  pushing  back  her  head  and 
looking  into  the  pale  face  with  its  spot  of  scarlet  heat  on  either 
cheek,  and  the  steady,  piercing  eyes. 

"  Rosslyn,  thee  is  not  wont  to  nurse  morbid  fancies." 

"  It  is  not  morbid,"  gravely,  moving  gently  away.  "  But  I  am 
apt  to  forget  what  I  was,  or,  remembering,  to  be  ashamed  of  it.  I 
understand  why  the  nuns  found  it  necessary  to  use  the  lash  on  their 
own  bare  flesh  sometimes.  Friend  Abigail — "  She  stopped  abruptly. 

"  What  is  it,  Ross  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  after  a  short  pause ;  "  only  the  name  which  your 
people  chose  to  be  called  by.  It  never  struck  me  before.  Friend  ? 
Friend?  That  means  so  much,"  looking  up,  her  eyes  growing 
uncertain,  and  dim. 

"Yes.  It  means  more  than  any  other  word,"  watching  her 
shrewdly  as  she  sat  opposite  to  her  on  a  low  settee.  "  When  God 
gives  a  friend  to  a  woman  in  her  husband,  or  lover,  or  child,  He  has 
little  more  to  give  her — here." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  said  Ross,  slowly.  She  had  a  thick, 
gray-bound  book  in  her  lap,  something  like  a  day-book.  Her  hands 
were  clasped  over  it.  Friend  Blanchard  took  off  her  watch.  As 
she  wound  it,  she  looked  askance  at  the  mouth,  sternly  shut,  and 
averted  eyes. 

"  Can  I  help  thee,  Ross  ?    Thee  has  some  trouble  to-night." 

"  No,"  with  a  forced  smile.  "  I  was  only  thinking  of  the  gifts, 
which  you  say  God  has  for  women.  But  one  woman  cannot  have 
all ;  one  must  give  something  up." 

"No,"  laying  down  the  watch.  "One  cannot  have  all.  But 
God  gives  us  a  choice." 

"  A  choice  ?  Yes,  there  is  a  choice."  She  was  silent  a  while, 
then  lifted  the  book  and  began  to  unclasp  it. 

"  What  is  it  that  thee  has  there  ?  " 

"  Some  old  drawings  of  mine  that  you  have  never  seen,"  chang- 


90  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

ing  her  seat  so  that  she  could  hold  the  book  open  before  them  "both. 
"I  wanted  to  look  at  them,  and  show  them  to  you  to-night." 

"Yes."  She  asked  no  questions,  carefully  avoided  Ross' face; 
following  her  gravely,  as  she  turned  over  the  leaves  to  the  first 
page. 

"  You  know  what  this  is  ?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Yes.  A  stall  in  the  Pine  Street  market.  But  it 
was  not  so  wretched  a  place  as  thee  has  painted  it." 

"  Wretched  ?  "  said  Ross,  thoughtfully.  "Did  I  make  it  that  ?  I 
did  not  intend  that.  I  go  down  there  often,  and  they  give  me 
such  a  hearty  welcome !  Those  people  were  very  kind  to  me — 
they're  kinder  to  each  other  than  any  other  class.  See,  here  is 
where  the  old  Conestoga  used  to  wait  for  me  every  evening.  I 
never  hear  such  bells  as  ours,  now.  This  is  Scheffer's  boy  to  the 
right.  He  is  a  butcher  out  in  Spring  Garden.  He  calls  his  eldest 
girl  for  me,  Rosslyn  Comly.  He  works  hard  to  keep  his  old  father 
and  mother  in  a  certain  idle  state — that  is  his  sole  pride.  He  is  a 
God-fearing  and  helpful  man,  with  a  vein  of  tenderness  under  all, 
though  he  has  spent  his  life  in  killing  beeves.  His  dirty  face  used 
to  symbolize  all  misery  and  vice  to  me.  It  would  do  so  to  Garrick 
Randolph  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Quakeress  dryly.     "  It  always  will." 

Ross  had  spoken  in  a  low,  constrained  voice,  as  if  she  repeated  a 
lesson.  She  turned  the  leaf. 

Friend  Blanchard  smiled.  "  Thee  has  made  the  old  Quakeress, 
in  her  sober  carriage,  look  like  Cleopatra  under  her  purple  sails." 

Ross  did  not  laugh.  "  No  colors  would  paint  you  as  you  seemed 
to  me  that  day.  It  was  a  Summer  day — do  you  remember? 
Fifteen  years  ago,  now — I  was  eating  my  bread  and  cheese  here  by 
these  fish  barrels,  when  you  drove  slowly  by  in  the  pleasant  evening 
light.  Oh,  the  loathing  that  came  to  me  at  that  moment  of  myself 
and  my  place  !  I  followed  you  then —  " 

Friend  Blanchard  put  out  her  hand  and  closed  the  book. 

"Enough  of  this,"  authoritatively.  "What  does  it  mean? 
What  purpose  will  it  serve  ?  " 

Ross  stood  up,  her  mouth  more  set  and  stern. 

"  It  means  that  it  is  good  for  me  to  go  back  and  see  myself  as  I 
was  then.  It  means  that  I  was  in  danger  to-night  of  forgetting 
the  child  that  left  her  stall,  and  followed  you  through  the  crowded 
streets  to  your  home,  full  of  a  hungry  discontent,  asking  you  what 
she  should  do  to  grow  like  you.  It  is  better  for  me  to  remember, 
beyond  that,  what  might  have  been  my  fate,  if  you  had  turned  me 
away —  "  She  raised  her  head  irresolutely,  and  let  it  fall,  her  skic 
growing  gray  and  dry.  "  What  I  might  have  been —  " 

"Stay,  Rosslyn!" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  was  so  filled  with  shame.  That  old  stain  on 
me  was  so  heavy  to  bear.  It  is  heavy  sometimes  now — " 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  97 

Friend  Blanchard  put  her  trembling  hands  together  to  steady 
them.  "Thee  forgets  Who  sent  thee  to  me,  Rosslyn.  "Who  had 
thee  in  care." 

Ross  grew  pale  slowly.  "I  do  not  forget.  He  was  like  us.  He, 
was  one  of  us,"  under  her  breath. 

"Why  should  thee  think  of  those  days  with  bitterness  then?" 

"  I  am  not  bitter,"  said  poor  Ross.  "  Only  sometimes —  Well," 
with  a  sigh,  "  God  knows  what  I  would  be  it  I  did  not  go  back 
sometimes  to  the  place  and  people  where  I  belong.  I  might  begin 
to  talk  of  Bourbon  blood,"  with  a  faint  smile.  "  So  I  made  these 
pictures,  and  have  kept  them.  They  are  studies  from  nature  which 
no  book  can  furnish  me.  Do  you  remember  this?"  holding  the  leaf 
open  at  the  picture  of  a  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  tawdrily 
dressed,  with  rouge  on  her  cheeks  and  mock  pearls  strung  through 
her  hair. 

Friend  Blanchard  colored.     "  It  is  a  caricature." 

"  No,"  said  Ross,  her  eyes  beginning  to  lighten  into  their  old 
pathetic  humor  as  she  looked  at  it.  "  Tlui  was  Rosslyn  Burley 
left  to  herself.  It  was  the  end  of  your  experiment  of  the  first  year. 
My  grandfather  took  me  from  the  market,  and  sent  me  to  the  public 
school.  At  the  end  of  the  year  I  was  to  come  to  you — and  it  was 
in  this  fashion  that  I  went."  She  held  the  picture  closer,  her 
mouth  twitching  with  a  smile,  but  her  eyes  were  wet  when  she 
looked  up. 

"  That  miserable  dress  was  the  result  of  so  many  struggles  and 
ambitions  for  that  poor  little  girl !  "  she  said.  "  It  was  the  best  she 
knew,  and  she  did  it.  Beyond  what  you  see  here,  whatever  I  am, 
came  from  you." 

"No.  Thee  did  not  owe  it  to  me  that  God  gave  thee  the 
artist's  eye  and  hand,  the  talent  which  brought  all  else  with  it.  I 
wish  thee  to  be  clear  on  one  point,  Rosslyn,"  gravely.  "  Thee  owes 
me  nothing  beyond  advice  and  sympathy.  I  took  care  of  that.  I 
meant  thee  should  be  free  from  any  obligation  which  it  might  annoy 
thy  husband  to  remember.  I  have  often  wished  for  an  opportunity 
to  tell  thee  this.  Thy  education  was  paid  for  at  first  by  thy  grand 
father,  and  afterward  by  the  sale  of  thy  designs.  Thee  is  indebted 
to  no  one  for  the  help  of  money." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  heartily. 

She  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  book  rapidly.  It  was  a  thick 
volume,  and  well  filled ;  on  every  page  one  or  two  studies. 

"  I  never  kept  a  diary,  I  am  so  dull  a  writer;  but  I  think  any  one 
could  read  my  life  here.  It  seems  plain  to  me.  Here  are  the  days 
before  I  knew  you,  and  bits  from  the  School  of  Design ;  there  are 
receipts  from  the  engravers  who  employ  me,  and  faces  of  people 
whom  I  know — " 

She  paused  there.     There  were  many  of  these  last,  as  many  vile 
7 


98  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT 

as  pure — the  vacant  and  ignorant,  with  the  noble,  and  the  common 
place,  ennobled  by  resolute  purpose.  Something  which  she  read  in 
all  of  them  brought  the  healthy  tone  back  suddenly  into  Ross' 
voice.  "  These  faces  here  are — people  who  love  me,  I  think,"  she  said 
gently,  closing  the  book. 

The  old  lady,  seeing  how  the  angry  lines  had  softened  out  of  her 
face,  and  hearing  her  voice  cheerful  and  full  again,  leaned  back  in  her 
chair,  and  fell  easily  into  the  prosy  current  of  moralizing  with  which 
she  usually  closed  the  day.  "  After  all,"  she  said,  "  life  is  but  a  long 
battle  with  circumstances  for  all  of  us.  Thee  has  thine  enemy  there 
in  visible  form,  Rosslyn." 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  here,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  One  might  guess  at  even 
the  birth  of  James  Streb ling's  daughter,  from  the  pages  of  this 
book." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  S  ;ddenly  Abigail  raised  herself  in  her 
chair  with  energy,  holding  out  her  hand.  "Rosslyn,"  she  said, 
"give  me  that  book.  It  is  unjust,  unjust,  that  the  sins  of  the  father 
should  fall  on  the  children.  Some  day  thee  will  wish  to  marry,  and 
thee  has  no  right  to  carry  disgrace  to  thy  husband." 

"  No,  I  have  no  right." 

"  Destroy  the  book,  and  conceal  thy  birth.  The  rest  will  not 
matter." 

Ross  shut  the  clasps  of  the  book  securely.  She  tried  to  speak, 
but  did  not. 

Abigail  still  held  her  hand  outstretched.  "  I  am  an  older  woman 
than  thee.  I  know  the  value  of  what  thee  is  giving  up.  I  know 
what  a  woman  needs." 

Ross'  chin  began  to  quiver,  and  her  fingers  to  move  unsteadily 
over  the  cover ;  but  she  held  it  firm.  "  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
comfort  to  me  in  these  old  days,"  she  said.  "  I  will  tell  no  lie  about 
my  life.  I  will  lose  nothing — but  a  friend  who  will  not  like  its 
story,  perhaps.  And  one  cannot  keep  all.  One  must  let  some 
thing  go." 

And  that  night,  when  her  door  was  locked  upon  her  again,  there 
came  to  her  the  words  of  her  grandfather,  already  made  so  plain, 
and  then  she  knew  that,  whatever  friend  or  true  lover  she  gave  up, 
it  would  not  be  the  old  man  on  whose  knee  she  had  sat,  on  whose 
breast  her  head  had  lain,  and  in  whose  heart  she  was  so  securely 
held. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE    GLAMOUR    OF    AN    OPEX   FIKE. 

ARRICK      RANDOLPH 

grew  tired  of  pacing  up 
and  down  the  quiet  par 
lors  of  his  hotel,  so  went 
up  to  the  Academy  of  Sci 
ences,  and  paced  solemnly 
up  and  down  there,  be 
tween  the  cases  of  mine 
rals  and  mummies. 

He  was  sulky,  but  he 
thought  he  was  misan 
thropic.  It  was  a  week 
since  he  had  come  to 
Philadelphia:  the  streets, 
every  day,  echoed  to  the 
monotonous  tramp  of  reg 
iments  passing  down  to 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
but  there  was  no  commis 
sion  ready  for  him.  Friend 
Blan chard  doubted  if  all 
her  plotting  or  forcing 
would*  slip  him  into  even 
an  inferior  place. 

The  drowse  and  enchantment  of  the  journey  Avere  over.  The 
war,  terrible  and  bloody,  was  present  in  every  sight  or  sound.  The 
face  of  a  great  city  compacts  and  reflects  like  a  convex  mirror  the 
feeling  of  a  country,  and  even  Garrick's  slow  eyes  read  with 
amazement  in  it,  the  strength  and  resolve  of  the  North  and  the 
slow  agony  of  this  grapple,  which  was  to  end  in  a  better  life  or  in 
death. 

But  as  for  himself— if  he  went  into  the  streets  to  jostle  with  the 
throng,  he  was  of  no  more  note  than  any  other  looker-on;  than 


100  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

these  jaunty  school-girls,  or  hook-nosed,  red-cravatted  Jew  shop- 
boys  lounging  tli rough  their  Sabbath  afternoon.  He  spoke  to  no 
body  from  morning  until  night ;  drank  his  wine  alone ;  began  to  be 
grateful  for  the  bow  of  the  dining-room  steward  which  recognized 
him  as  a  boarder :  it  gave  him  a  place  in  the  human  family.  Look 
ing  out  now  over  the  vast  flat  of  houses,  swarming  with  human 
beings  of  whom  he  knew  but  one  solitary  old  woman,  he  began  to 
feel  as  if  he  belonged  as  little  to  this  world  about  him,  as  did  the 
little  dried-up  skeletons  of  birds  and  fishes,  staring  at  him  with 
fleshless  eyes,  and  as  if  he  had  come  out  of  as  narrow  and  remote 
a  groove  of  life  as  their's  had  been. 

In  a  word,  Randolph  had  come  to  take  part  in  the  war,  feeling 
like  Hercules  putting  his  shoulder  to  the  cart-wheel,  and  he  found 
himself  to  be  but  the  fly  on  the  rim.  Blessed  is  the  man  who  learns 
that  most  wholesome  and  galling  of  lessons  in  his  youth !  Better 
a  leg  or  an  arm  lost  in  the  battle  of  middle-life,  than  .self-com 
placency  wrenched  away  late  from  us  ! 

It  was  no  comfort  to  him  to  think  of  Rosslyn.  Their  Christmas 
in  the  mountains  had  suddenly  lost  its  zest,  although  the  pro 
gramme  had  been  unaltered :  impromptu  gifts,  the  carols  and  the 
dinner  had  all  been  gone  through,  but  Miss  Burley  played  her  part 
like  an  /automaton.^  The  lamp  was  there,  but  the  light  in  it  had 
gone  out,  and  Mr.  Randolph  had  an  nneasy  sense  all  day  that  he 
had  been  to  blame  for  it. 

Rosslyn  spent  half  of  the  afternoon  in  the  kitchen,  talking  to  the 
old  grandmother  about  a  wagoner  named  Joe,  who  had  stopped  at 
the  tavern  which  the  Baldwins  had  kept  long  ago.  He  heard  them 
as  he  passed  the  door.  He  told  Friend  Blanchard  that  he  perceived 
Miss  Burley  was  a  radical.  "Had  she  any  aesthetic  appetite  for 
studies  of  vulgarity  of  habit  and  diction,  or  was  she  acting  as  a 
home  missionary  ?  " 

The  old  lady  had  flushed  a  little  at  his  tone,  but  told  him  gravely, 
No  ;  that  she  herself  "  was  not  a  radical ;  she  would  not  choose  red 
paint  or  blankets  as  her  own  ordinary  attire,  yet  she  had  known  a 
Whmebago  squaw  once  who  was  a  pleasant  companion,  and  a  loyal 
friend." 

To  which  he  assented,  not  knowing  at  all  what  she  meant. 

After  their  arrival  he  saw  them  but  once.  Friend  Blanchard  had 
gone  some  months  before  to  live  with  Miss  Burley  in  a  small  farm 
house  beyond  Camden:  a  quaint,  quiet  little  place;  "a  home  as 
well  as  homely,"  the  Quakeress  said.  When  he  heard  that  the 
house  belonged  to  Rosslyn,  and  had  been  her  home  since  childhood, 
Garrio.k  was  fired  with«a  keen  impatience  to  see  it.  No  spot  of 
ground  had  ever  seemed  holy  to  him  before :  but  there,  he  would 
find  the  impress  of  her  pure,  generous  life ;  hint  after  hint  of  the 
years  before  lie  knew  her.  He  was  jealous  of  those  years;  he 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  101 

wanted  them  all,  brought  open  to  him :  he  wanted  her  past  and 
her  future  laid  absolutely  in  his  hand. 

He  was  asked  to  dine  with  them,- formally,  once,  and  had  gone. 
That  Avas  all.  There  were  other  people  there  ;  he  did  not  remember 
whether  men  or  women.  There  were  some  things  which  he  did 
remember. 

When  he  chose  this  woman  as  his  friend,  he  supposed  that  it  was 
an  unknown  treasure  which  he  had  discovered.  He  meant  to  shut 
out  the  world,  to  go  apart  to  enjoy  it,  to  test  and  prove  it,  whether 
it  were  best  to  sell  all  that  he  had  to  buy  it  or  not.  He  did  not 
expect  to  find  that  all  the  world  had  been  beforehand  with  him,  had 
assayed  and  tried  and  paid  more  homage  to  its  worth  than  he  ! 

These  people  about  her,  to  the  very  servant  that  stood  behind 
her  chair,  had  property  in  her,  he  saw :  there  were  a  thousand  ties 
between  them  of  which  he  knew  nothing;  there  were J little  kind 
nesses  remembered'";'  help  given  or  received  on  one  side  or  the 
other ;  some  cheerful,  friendly  memory  in  every  eye  that  looked  on 
her — keeping  a  pleasant  light  about  her,  perpetually. 

Ross  glowed  with  hospitality,  too,  in  every  drop  of  her  blood, 
which  is  a  virtue  different  from  any  other.  The  old  home  was  hers 
and  her  grandfather's ;  the  bit  of  the  earth,  she  thought  secretly, 
which  her  Lord  had  given  them,  to  stand  upright  on ;  she  liked  to 
welcome  people  to  it,  rich  or  poor — Abigail  Blanchard's  friends, 
from  their  country  seats,  or  her  own,  from  the  alleys  where  she  had 
lived  in  the  city ;  she  liked  them  to  find  their  beds  in  her  house 
warm  and  soft,  their  meals  delicious,  no  matter  how  little  they  cost ; 
she  was  anxious  and  eager  to  give  them  all  one  heartsome,  strength 
ening  hour  to  remember,  if  it  was  but  one  they  could  spend  under 
her  roof;  there  was  not  a  day  in  which  she  did  not  find  some  new 
thino-  to  make  her  home  fresher  or  more  attractive. 

O 

"  I  think  I'm  right,"  she  said,  obstinately,  when  Friend  Blanchard, 
knowing  how  small  her  earnings  were,  reasoned  with  her.  "  I  am 
no  genius  ;  I  am  not  peculiarly  gentle  or  good-tempered.  Let  me 
have  my  little  house,  and  do  what  good  I  can  in  it.  When  God 
opened  the  world  for  us,  He  took  us  all  in,  and  He  made  our  house 
beautiful,  as  well  as  useful." 

The  old  lady  stood  back  after  that,  watching  with  shrewd  amuse 
ment,  year  after  year,  how  the  scanty  earnings  were  made  to  fertilize 
a  larger  and  larger  field. 

Ross  gathered  a  queer  set  of  people  about  her ;  one  or  two  runa 
way  slaves  unfit-  for  work  ;  a  lame,  little  field-boy,  a  crabbed  old 
cook  ;  every  inch  of  the  little  farm  was  taxed  to  make  a  plentiful 
and  pleasant  home  for  them. 

Mr.  Randolph  found  the  glimpse  which  he  caught  of  this  stat« 
of  affairs  distasteful  enough.  Miss  Barley's  life  was  generous, 
wholesome  and  beautiful,  as  he  had  imagined,  but  he  saw  no  vacant 


102  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

place  in  it  for  himself.  After  the  first  visit,  he  had  not  even  been 
able  to  see  her,  use  what  effort  he  might. 

Left  to  himself,  thus,  the  old  story  which  Friend  Blanchard  had 
told  him  began  to  haunt  him.  The  war,  while  his  judgment  was 
enlisted  on  one  side,  and  his  feelings  on  the  other,  was  a  dreary 
muddle  to  him  ;  he  put  it  away,  and  went  back  to  his  own  affairs. 
One  inch  of  the  oat-fields  or  mullen-grown  clay-roads  about  the  old 
house  at  home,  was  more  to  him  than  this  flat  brick  and  marble 
mass,  with  its  million  of  swarming  lives.  He  took  up  the  old  story, 
turned  it  over  and  over,  day  by  day.  Why  had  it  been  kept  from 
him  ?  His  father,  Aunt  Laura,  the  old  negro  Hugh — why  had  no 
hint  of  it  been  dropped  by  any  of  them  ?  Could  any  suspicion 
ever  have  rested  on  his  father  for  cognizance  of  the  negro's  sup 
posed  concealment  of  the  will  ?  Garrick's  blood  checked  at  the 
heart,  and  then  tingled,  like  fire,  through  his  veins.  At  night,  on 
the  streets,  and  now  here  in  this  wilderness  of  stuffed  beasts  and 
human  skulls,  he  was  busy  with  this  one  idea :  the  most  distinct 
and  practical  thought  it  suggested  being  a  wish  to  see  the  negro, 
and  atone  to  him  for  his  long  neglect. 

Coming  down  the  crooked  stairs,  on  to  the  pavement,  just  as  the 
setting  sun  threw  a  glare  of  yellow  light  across  the  streets,  Gar- 
rick  heard  his  name  called,  and  looking  up,  saw  a  sleigh  drawn  up 
to  the  gutter,  in  which  two  ladies  were  seated. 

"  Miss  Conrad  ! "  He  gave  her  his  hand  eagerly,  although  he 
had  not  been  used  to  like  her ;  but  it  was  a  Kentucky  face  ! 

She  shook  it,  warmly.  "  I  am  sure  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
alive  out  of  the  hands  of  either  blues  or  grays.  Not  that  you  were 
wanting  in  courage,  but  you  had  no  more  experience  than  a  baby, 
you  know,"  said  honest,  tactless  Margaret,  opening  out  the  tiger 
rikins  to  find  a  seat  for  him.  "  Come  out  with  us  to  see  my  father, 
Garrick.  It  will  be  good  for  him." 

Randolph  sprang  into  the  vacant  place.  "  It  will  be  good  for 
me,"  heartily. 

He  waited  for  her  to  ask  some  questions  about  his  hair-breadth 
escapes,  but  Miss  Oonrad  never  had  any  more  curiosity  than  if  she 
were  made  of  lead.  She  leaned  back,  nodding  to  the  driver  to 
go  on. 

"  Mrs.  Ottley,  this  is  my  cousin  of  whom  my  father  has,  no  doubt, 
told  you  that  he  was  a  Randolph,  going  back  to  the  Champernouns 
of  Elizabeth's  time." 

Garrick's  suspicious  glance  could  catch  no  satire  in  the  wide,  gray 
eye  sweeping  the  broad  street,  leisurely.  It  was  leaden  as  her  wits, 
he  thought,  and  surrendered  himself  to  be  entertained  by  the  blue- 
eyed,  dapper,  chattering  little  woman  opposite  to  him. 

Mrs.  Ottley  met  the  Randolph  with  his  roots  in  the  Champer 
nouns,  as  one  scion  of  a  royal  stock  might  greet  another.  She  her- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  103 

self  was  a  Sterratt,  of  York,  Pa.,  whose  great-grandfather,  N 
blacksmith,  had  laid  out  that  town.  The  ground-rents  brought  her 
in  now  three  hundred  a  year.  "  It  was  not  the  amount,"  she  used 
to  say,  "  but — "  Every  dollar  of  it  represented  to  her  a  sort  of 
fee  of  an  estate  which  her  ancestor  had  enfeoffed.  When  she  visited 
the  Perkinses,  the  doctor's  family  in  York,  or  at  Cutler's,  the  grocer's, 
she  felt  like  a  feudal  dame  descending  into  the  adjacent  cottages. 
She  and  Randolph  fraternized  at  once,  and  beguiled  the  way  by  be 
wailing  the  war,  and  the  disruption  of  society  consequent  upon  it. 
Garrick  thought  her  a  very  well-bred  and  clever  woman  (for  a 
Northerner),  by  the  time  they  were  at  their  journey's  end. 

The  house  was  one  of  those  large,  low-ceiled  houses  of  rough- 
hewn  stone,  squatted  here  and  there  through  Berks  and  Philadelphia 
counties,  like  overgrown  Dutch  ovens.  Garrick,  who  had  a  woman's 
eye  for  minutia3,  noticed  as  they  passed  through  the  wide  hall  that 
the  rooms  were  poorly  furnished,  with  the  exception  of  flower-stands 
filled  with  the  rarest  exotics.  Some  tamed  birds,  too,  that  fluttered 
about  the  window-ledges ;  and  a  tawny  Russian  hound,  worth  his 
weight  in  gold,  Garrick  knew,  to  dog-fanciers,  came  sauntenng  from 
the  warm  inner  room  to  meet  him. 

"  They  are  trifles  that  amuse  Mr.  Conrad.  He  has  a  friend  who 
brings  them  to  him,"  explained  Margaret.  She  stopped,  stroking 
the  dog's  head  with  her  ungloved  hand  in  her  slow,  composed 
manner.  But  Randolph  saw  her  dull,  gray  eyes  gather  a  sudden 
liquid  brilliance,  and  a  change  came  on  her  face  that  startled  him. 
"  Her  love  for  that  blind  old  man  is  putting  a  soul  into  her,"  he 
thought,  as  he  pulled  off  his  overcoat,  muttering  to  himself  some 
thing  from  Ariosto,  how  that  "  the  horse  was  perfect ;  that  he  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  the  horse,  except  that  it  was  dead."  Then  he 
hurried  into  the  inner  room,  with  a  vague  idea  of  avoiding  her;  he 
had  no  data  from  which  to  guess  what  sort  of  life  the  woman  would 
develop ;  whether  it  was  a  dainty  spirit  that  lay  hid  in  her  veins,  or 
a  vicious  one. 

He  stopped  suddenly  in  the  open  door.  By  one  of  those  inexpli 
cable  links  of  memory,  something  in  the  room  brought  back  his 
childhood  to  him,  one  day  in  especial,  when  he  was  learning  to  swim 
in  the  Cumberland.  It  had  come  and  gone  like  an  electric  flash 
before  he  could  distinguish  even  its  features;  but  there  was  his 
father,  the  negro  Hugh,  and  the  river,  with  a  group  of  lookers  on 
on  the  bank. 

lie  walked  hastily  forward  to  meet  the  blind  old  man,  who  had 
started  up  with  both  hands  out. 

"  God  bless  you,  Garrick  !  Know  you  ?  I  knew  your  voice  in 
the  hall.  I  said,  'that's  Coyle  Randolph's  voice,  or  his  son's.'  So 
you've  come  up  to  join  the  good  cause  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I've  come  up  to  join  the  good  cause." 


104  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  old  map  turned  bis  head,  attentive.  "You  are  not  well? 
What  is  it  ? 

"  Yes,  I'm  well."  Garrick  laughed,  with  an  annoyed,  quick  look 
about  him.  "  But  the  room  confused  me.  Something  familiar  in 
it  brought  old  times  up  so  plainly  that  I  lost  my  self-possession  for 
a  moment." 

"  It's  the  open  fire,"  broke  in  Conrad,  triumphantly.  "  You've 
been  sitting  over  grates  in  the  wall ;  it's  the  fire  had  the  home  look 
to  you.  I  told  Meg  I  must  hear  the  crackle  and  the  ashes  crumblin' 
down.  I'm  glad  I  did  if  it  give  you  a  welcome." 

"  It  was  the  fire,  no  doubt,"  said  Randolph,  holding  his  numbed 
hands  out  over  the  blaze,  but  giving  another  perplexed  look  over 
the  apartment.  The  Streblings,  the  lost  will,  all  the  old  story  was 
coming*  freshly  before  him  after  that  flash  of  memory. 

It  was  a  wide,  cheerful  room,  with  brown  paper  on  the  walls,  and 
brown  carpet  on  the  floor.  But  the  westering  sunlight  came  in 
through  half  a  dozen  windows,  and  the  broad  glow  of  the  fire  met 
it  half  way,  so  that  the  shadows  were  driven  into  forgotten  corners. 
Mrs.  Ottley,  in  a  crisp,  showy,  purple  carriage- dress,  was  frisking 
about  the  flowers  childishly.  The  preacher,  short  and  stout,  was 
drawn  up  squarely  on  the  rug.  Miss  Conrad,  still  in  her  dark  furs 
and  darker  velvet  cloak,  stood  by  a  window  looking  out  at  the 
snowy  field  ;  her  head  had  drooped  a  little,  which  gave  to  her  large, 
slow-moving  figure  an  unusual,  womanly  grace,  he  thought.  A 
little,  small-featured,  grave  Frenchman,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  gray 
tightly  buttoned  over  his  thin  chest,  who  had  been  playing  chess 
with  her  father  when  they  came  in,  was  talking  to  her,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him.  There  was  nothing  familiar  here. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  fire,"  thought  Randolph,  and  put  the 
matter  away  from  him,  turning  to  talk  to  the  old  man,  who  was 
growing  broader  and  stouter,  and  more  eager  with  his  pleasure  at 
meeting  one  of  his  own  kin. 

"  Yes,  it's  chess,  Garrick,"  in  answer  to  some  question.  "  I  lamed 
the  trick  of  playing  blindfold  years  ago,  and  Doctor  Broderip 
here,  he's  freshened  it  up  to  me,  agin." 

Garrick  looked  up  curiously  at  the  name  of  the  famous  surgeon, 
and  met  a  pair  of  light  hazel  eyes  scanning  him. 

"Is  he  your  friend?"  said  Broderip,  in  an  undertone,  to  Miss 
Conrad. 

"Yes." 

The  surgeon  instantly  left  her,  and  joined  the  other  two  men,  in 
order  that  he  might  be  presented  to  him.  He  had  (when  he  chose 
to  have  it)  a  frank,  boyish  manner,  which  impressed  Randolph  like 
the  rare  good-humor  of  a  sensitive,  irritable  woman. 

"You  looked  at  me  steadfastly,"  he  said,  as  he  shook  hands  with 
Randolph,  "  have  we  met  before  ?  " 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  105 

"  No  ;  but  I  had  decided  you  to  be  a  foreigner — French,  from  yo"i 
appearance,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  you  were  a  person  whom 
I  knew  by  reputation  as  an  American." 

"  A  foreigner  ?"  The  critical  eyes  left  Garrick's  face,  glancing 
down  at  himself :  "I  lived  in  France  for  several  years  at  the  age 
when  the  habits  and  the  voice  are  forming.  It  may  have  had  its 
effect.  I  never  have  remarked  it.  But  it  had  its  effect,  doubtless." 

"In  France?  You  were  a  boy  there — in  France?"  said  Mar 
garet,  her  usually  grave  voice  uncertain  and  timid. 

"  You  speak  so  seldom  of  yourself,  Doctor,"  broke  in  the  old  man, 
"  there's  a  flavor  of  mystery  about  you  that's  very  appetizing  to 
the  women — eh,  Mrs.  Ottley?  But  I  guessed  that  much.  You've 
got  the  tastes  and  habits  of  people  civilized  in  another  line  than 
ours ;  they  don't  fight  for  idees,  but  sit  down  and  enjoy.  I  thought 
you'd  been  among  them  as  a  lad.  'Jest  as  the  twig  is  bent,'  you 
know."  / 

Brodcrip  answered  neither  Margaret  nor  her  father  directly,  but 
addressed  Randolph,  smiling,  with  his  hazel,  confusing  eyes  full  on 
his  face.  "It  is  our  boyhood  that  is  responsible  for  us,  I  think,  Mr. 
Randolph  ?  Or  blood,  to  go  further  back  ?  Now,  I  did  not  know," 
he  added,  with  an  amused  laugh,  as  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Ottley,  "  that 
any  one  had  clothed  myLcommonplace  life  with  mystery.  What 
little  practice  I  have  known  was  in  the  hospitals  of  Paris.  There 
are  themes  enough  for  romance  there,  God  knows,  but  I  was  not 
one  of  them  ;  a  hard  working,  Yankee  boy." 

He  stopped  to  button  his  glove  :  his  hand  was  delicate  and  shapely 
as  a  woman's,  Garrick  noticed ;  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  diamond 
solitaire  that  glistened  in  the  gathers  of  the  fine  shirt-sleeve,  but 
almost  out  of  sight ;  his  outer  dress  was  without  jewelry,  coarse 
and  heavy. 

"  You  have  had  one  perquisite  of  being  born  a  Yankee,  at  least," 
said  Randolph,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness — "  success." 

"  Yes,"  gravely.  "  I  performed  one  or  two  brilliant  but  rash  oper 
ations  in  New  York  soon  after  my  return  which  gave  me  my  repu 
tation.  But  it  is  factitious  ;  solely  factitious.  I  have  had  twice  the 
success  of  many  surgeons,  whose  skill  in  a  course  of  practice  would 
be  proved  infinitely  superior  to  mine." 

"  That's  plain-speaking,  strong  enough  flavored  for  even  Meg  ! " 
said  her  father. 

Miss  Conrad's  gray  eyes  kindled  again  ;  she  was  holding  her  wrist 
steady  for  a  canary  to  perch  on,  and  may  have  been  amused  with 
it.  But  Doctor  Broderip  made  a  hasty  step  toward  her,  near 
enough  for  the  folds  of  her  dress  to  touch  his  foot.  He  only  looked 
at  her,  however,  and  said  hastily  to  her  father:  "You  will  not 
forget  your  promise  for  to-morrow  evening  ?  It  nears  my  hospital 
hour  now.  I  must  leave  the  game  unfinished,"  glancing  at  the  clock 
in  the  corner. 


106  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Mrs.  Ottley  fluttered  up,  beaming ;  "  It  is  not  probable  that  any 
of  us  will  forget.  Your  reunions  are  un  grand  succes,  doctor ; 
'rash  but  brilliant,'  let  me  assure  you.  You  spice  them  as  no 
woman  would  know  how  to  do ;  that  is  it,  the  spice — the  eccentricity ! 
For  instance,  Abigail  Blanchard  is  to  be  with  you  to-morrow  night, 
she  is  the  sole  relic  left  us  of  the  old  regime  ;  and  her  inseparable 
friend — is  she  coming,  Doctor  Broderip? — who  belongs  to  no 
regime  f  "  shrugging  her  flat  chest,  and  lifting  her  eyebrows. 

"  Do  you  mean  Miss  Buiiey  ?  "  said  Garrick,  the  blood  mounting 
to  his  face. 

The  little  lady  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  then  gave  a  vapid  laugh 
to  hide  her  embarrassment.  "Rosslyn  Burley,  yes.  A  light- 
hearted,  sweet-breathed  girl.  So  pleasant  that  you  know  her  ! 
Whom  shall  we  meet  beside  her,  Doctor  Broderip?" 

"  Mr.  Randolph ;  if  he  will  put  all  ceremony  aside  for  me  as  I 
would  do  for  him,"  said  the  surgeon,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Gar- 
rick  with  a  frank  smile  that  always  won  its  way.  It  did  not  fail 
now ;  yet  the  young  Kentuckian,  after  a  cordial  answer  and  as 
cordial  a  good-by,  stood  at  the  window  watching  the  surgeon 
mounting  into  his  low  sleigh,  and  sitting  behind  a  pair  of  thorough 
bred  grays,  stiff  and  erect,  his  thin  face  reddened  by  the  wind,  with 
a  twinge  of  envy.  Broderip  was  a  man  of  his  own  age,  yet  he  had 
already  left  his  foot-print  in  the  world,  won  himself  a  name  and 
solid  wealth,  while  he,  when  he  came,  after  a  long  vigil  of  thought 
and  study,  to  take  up  his  work,  found  no  place,  but  was  thrown  out 
as  salt  that  had  lost  its  savor. 

No  matter. 

To-morrow,  was  it,  that  he  would  see  her?  To-morrow?  He 
stood  a  long  time,  looking  out,  and  when  he  turned,  found  that  Mrs. 
Ottley  was  still  discussing  Doctor  Broderip  and  his petits  soupers.  He 
had  opened  the  doors  to  her  and  other  women  since  Margaret  and  her 
father  came,  and  her  opinions  had  undergone  a  complete  change. 
More  than  any  other  man,  she  said,  she  found  him  congenial  and  in 
need  of  womanly  counsel  in  his  affairs. 

"But  then,  every  body  grows  more  human,  the  nearer  you  come 
to  them," 'she  said.  To  which  Margaret  and  her  father,  whose 
guests  were  sacred  in  their  absence,  answered  nothing. 

The  old  preacher  and  Broderip  had  "  fellowshipped,"  in  Western 
phrase,  since  their  first  meeting.  The  surgeon's  vivid,  unequal  talk 
had  the  zest  of  good  wine  to  Mr.  Conrad,  who  had  a  surfeit  on 
Sundays  of  the  pietudes  of  his  brethren  of  the  Conference,  who 
came  in  baggy  clothes  and  rusty  wigs,  and  ideas  rustier  and  coarser 
than  both,  to  condole  with  him  on  that  loss  of* which  his  daughter 
never  had  spoken  to  him. 

Why  Broderip  should  relish  the  old  stock-breeder's  interminable 
talk  that  had  a  pungent  earthy  flavor  in  it,  like  that  of  the  buckeye 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  107 

woods  in  Fall,  was  not  so  plain.  But  apparently,  he  did  relish 
it — came  out,  after  a  hard  night's  work,  so  often  that  a  chamber 
was  set  apart  for  him;  servants  began  to  look  upon  him  as  an 
habitue  of  the  place ;  the  old  man  would  catch  the  first  sound  of 
his  horses'  hoofs,  and  go  out  to  meet  him,  whistling  and  flourishing 
his  hickory  stick.  They  were  together  like  two  boys  out  from 
school.  They  worked,  and  grew  anxious  alike  over  first  one,  and 
then  another  plan  for  draining,  or  subsoiling.  The  man  was  one  of 
those  whom  it  is  natural  to  indulge ;  and  even  old  Lotty,  the  cook, 
caught  an  idea  of  his  whims,  and  humored  them  as  far  as  she  was 
able. 

"  Mas'r  Broderip,"  she  said,  "  was  as  fond  of  lyin'  near  this  fire, 
and  eatin'  cake  an'  sirups,  as  a  chile  of  her  own."  She  and  Mar 
garet  took  care  that  neither  fire  nor  sweetmeats  were  lacking. 
Yet,  with  all  this,  Hugh  Conrad  used  to  rub  his  bald,  low  forehead 
doubtfully  when  the  surgeon  drove  away.  "  Mrs.  Ottley  calls  him 
a  quiet,  well-bred  gentleman,  Meg.  But  he's  not  quiet ;  he's  not 
well-bred;  though  I've  a  curous  affection  for  him.  A  curou? 
affection." 

At  another  time  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  have  a  look  at  that 
little  fellow's  face.  I'd  understand  him  better.  With  all  his  open, 
boyish  ways,  he  reminds  me  of  the  water  of  the  Mississippi :  clear 
atop  but  thick  mud  underneath.  Yet  I  never  hankered  after  the 
society  of  any  man  as  much,  I'll  say  that."  To  which  Miss  Conrad 
answered  at  random.  She  did  not  show  her  usual  rough  acumen  in 
judging  of  Broderip. 

With  regard  to  herself.  Doctor  Broderip  watched  her  at  first 
with  what  he  called  an  amused  curiosity :  because  he  had  met  no 
such  woman  among  the  trained,  delicate  young  girls  in  Philadelphia!! 
or  New  York  society. 

There  was  a  chalybeate  spring  in  a  field  through  which  he  used 
to  pass  on  his  way  to  town  from  the  farm-house.  He  was  a  fanciful 
man  :  fond  of  subtle  analogies  ;  this  spring  reminded  him  of  Mar 
garet.  It  was  the  very  emblem  of  power,  stifled  and  ineffective. 
It  forced  itself  up  only  to  ooze  uselessly  through  the  baked  clay, 
and  to  turn  the  whole  field  into  a  muddy,  sullen  marsh. 
*  'Broderip  used  to  stop  his  horse  to  look  at  it.  "  If  it  only  had  a 
free  channel  opened  for  it,"  he  used  to  think,  "  it  could  flow  warm 
and  deep,  and  healthfuller  than  any  other  water,  straight  to  the 
sea."  A  commonplace,  harmless  fancy  enough,  but  something  in  it 
always  goaded  him  into  a  moody  ill-temper.  The  patients  in  his 
hospital  paid  the  penalty ;  and  they  knew  they  would  pay  it  as 
soon  as  they  saw  his  thin,  scowling  face  at  the  ward  doors.  Such 
moods  were  not  rare. 

To  be  just  to  Broderip,  however,  we  may  mention  here  that  there 
was  one  room  into  which  he  never  was  known  to  come  without  a 


108  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

cheerful  smile  and  pleasant  words  ;  it  was  the  ward  from  which  he 
received  no  pay ;  there  was  a  sort  of  honor  in  his  queer,  unequal 
brain  that  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  insult  men  who  received 
his  charity.  Whatever  his  temper  may  have  been  elsewhere  (and 
it  was  often  simply  brutal),  before  them  he  held  it  down,  and  kept 
it  out  of  sight, 

On  this  evening,  after  leaving  the  farm-house  his  horses  and  the 
boy  who  sat  beside  him  very  soon  discovered  that  he  was  in  an 
unsafe  temper ;  though  he  sat  silent,  his  eyes  half  shut,  his  thin, 
sallow  face  set  against  the  wind.  Maxon,  the  toll-gate  keeper,  for 
whom  Broderip  had  every  day  some  bit  of  chaffing  or  joke  that 
started  the  old  fellow  to  chuckling  for  an  hour,  gave  him  his  change 
without  a  word,  after  a  look  at  his  face ;  when  the  off  horse  shied 
at  a  post  in  the  road,  and  broke  his  trace,  he  did  not  speak,  but  sat 
motionless  while  the  boy  tried  to  fasten  it ;  usually  he  would  have 
jumped  out  to  do  it  himself,  have  sworn  and  cursed  at  the  horse, 
handling  him  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  a  woman,  and  then  in 
again  whistling  or  humming  some  of  his  perpetual  opera  airs ;  for 
he  was  vain  of  his  weak,  shrill  voice,  and  sang  constantly,  while 
t  alone. 

It  may  have  been  the  weather  that  had  taken  the  spirit  out  of  his 
veins,  as  it  had  the  electric  vigor  from  the  air ;  he  was  susceptible 
to  such  influences.  It  was  that  most  melancholy  of  seasons  when 
Spring  begins  to  put  forth  futile,  feeble  fingers  into  Winter.  The 
air  was  raw  and  wet,  it  penetrated  with  a  thick,  unwholesome  damp 
to  the  very  bones  ;  the  half-thawed  snow  lay  in  muddy  patches  in 
the  roads,  the  tops  of  the  low,  wind-beaten  hills  ran  over  in  melting 
yellow  clay,  while  their  rutted  sides  began  to  put  on  a  sickly  green, 

But  if  the  discomfort  and  barrenness  of  the  day  had  touched 
Broderip,  he  showed  it  by  not  even  a  glance  to  one  side  or  the 
other ;  sat  immovable  as  they  drove  rapidly  into  the  city  through 
the  crowded  streets,  answering  with  a  quick  nod  or  grave  mono 
syllable  when  he  was  stopped  once  or  twice  by  the  anxious  friends 
of  patients. 

He  alighted  at  the  door  of  the  hospital ;  two  of  his  pupils,  who 
were  waiting  on  the  steps,  coming  forward  to  meet  him. 

He  made  no  answer  to  their  greeting,  but  passed  hurriedly  in. 

"An'  I  wish  ye  joy  of  the  devil  ye're  a  following  gentl'men," 
chuckled  the  boy  Bill,  as  he  covered  the  horses.  "  I'm  shet  of  him 
fur  an  hour." 

He  did  not  visit  the  pauper  ward  that  evening  ;  in  the  others  the 
two  young  physicians  followed  him  from  bed  to  bed,  paying  exag 
gerated  deference  to  his  few  constrained  instructions,  falling  back 
now  and  again  to  shake  their  heads  significantly,  keeping  as  uneasy 
a  watch  on  his  sallow,  sober  face  as  if  the  boy  had  spoken  the 
literal  truth,  and  it  was  the  devil  that  had  them  in  charge.  \  They 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  109 

grew  more  uneasy  as  the  time 'came  for  the  single  operation  of  the 
evening,  on  young  "Withers,  whose  leg  was  to  be  amputated,  and 
who  had  been  on  low  diet  now  preparing  for  it  for  a  month.  Brod- 
erip's  needless  cruelty  when  in  these  moods,  a  hint  of  which  had 
reached  even  Mrs.  Ottley,  was  too  often  a  painful  reality  to  the 
young  men. 

"  lie's  always  dangerous  when  he's  dumb,"  said  one  of  them, 
George  Farr,  when  they  went  aside  for  lint  and  bandages.  "  Like 
any  beast  of  prey — " 

Then  he  stopped  with  a  blush,  for  the  surgeon  had  been  kind  to 
him  ;  had  taken  him  without  a  fee,  and  once  when  George  had  been 
drawn  into  a  bad  set,  had  paid  his  gambling  debts,  and  taken  him 
out  of  the  station-house  one  night,  keeping  it  quiet  "  for  his  mother's 
sake."  It  had  been  the  salvation  of  Farr :  the  hand  stretched  out 
just  as  he  was  slipping  into  the  pit.  He  followed  Broderip  after 
that,  like  a  spaniel ;  quoted  him  to  whoever  would  listen  to  him ; 
imitated  his  manner  and  his  dress.  But  being  a  weak-nerved,  dys 
peptic  boy,  he  was  in  constant  terror  of  these  savage  moods,  and 
almost  as  much  in  awe  of  the  gayety,  like  drunkenness,  which  often 
succeeded  them ;  both  were  something  which  he  could  not  under 
stand. 

"  He's  been  keeping  Sam  Withers'  family  since  the  night  of  the 
accident,  to  my  certain  knowledge,"  he  said  to  the  other  student, 
Hubbard,  trying  to  blot  out  his  last  words.  But  his  pale,  blue 
eyes  turned  frightened  away,  when  Broderip  drew  down  the  sheet 
from  the  crushed  leg.  The  surgeon,  he  knew,  usually  thrust  a  man's 
life  about  with  his  knife  and  saw-edge  as  if  it  were  of  no  more  value 
than  a  gad-fly ;  but  there  was  relish,  an  actual  gusto,  in  his  small, 
colorless  face  as  he  cut  to-night  into  this  man's  flesh  ;  even  George 
Fair's  partial  eyas  saw  that.  He  hacked  it  cruelly,  as  if  it  were  his 
enemy  that  lay  before  him,  his  lips  tight  shut,  his  light  eyes  in  a 
blaze.  Even  Hubbard,  wJio  was  a  big  bully  of  a  fellow,  pulled  at 
his  moustache,  losing  color,  growing  more  subservient  to  Broderip 
every  moment. 

Farr  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  shivered,  shaking  back  his  red 
hair,  for  he  was  a  miserable  little  coward,  physically,  but  he  looked 
up  from  where  he  stooped,  holding  the  sponge  filled  with  ether  to 
Withers'  mouth,  straight  into  the  surgeon's  set  face. 

"Is  your  hand  steady,  Doctor  Broderip?  "in  a  meaning  voice. 
."  Sam's  life  is  most  run  out,  I  think.  He's  had  such  a  tough  work 
to  keep  it,  it's  a  pity  we'd  let  it  slip  for  him.  He's  been  a  cursedly 
hard-worked  fellow — Withers." 

For  he  knew  how  to  "manage  his  man. 

The  knife  stopped  an  instant :  Broderip's  irascible  eyes  con« 
tracted  sharply,  as  a  man's  that  is  waked  from  a  half  sleep. 

"There's  no  danger  of  his  dying,  damn  him,"  sharply. 


110  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

After  a  while — "  Hard-worked,  eh  ? "  under  his  breath.  His 
fingers  moved  after  that  with  a  skill  and  precision  that  held  Hub- 
bard  breathless,  for  he  was  an  enthusiast  in  his  profession. 

When  it  was  all  over,  and  Withers,  safely  back  in  his  bed,  opened 
his  eyes  slowly,  the  surgeon's  face  was  the  first  they  met. 

"  It's  all  right,  young  man  !  "  he  said,  cheerily. 

"  I'll  never  forget  the  face  and  tone  with  which  that  man  welcomed 
me'  back  to  life ! "  Sam  was  used  to  say  afterward,  when  he  was 
telling  the  story  over  for  the  thousandth  time. 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are,  Farr ! "  said  Hubbard,  as  they  were 
walking  down  street  that  night  away  from  the  hospital.  "  You've 
always  some  crank  in  your  brain  about  Broderip,  as  if  he  could 
have  had  any  ill-will  to  Withers  !  " 

George  Farr  was  stroking  his  thin  sandy  jaws  thoughtfully.  "  I 
did  not  think  he  had  any  ill-will  to  Withers,"  he  said,  dryly,  as  if 
the  subject  had  ceased  to  interest  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  MAN'S  EIGHT. 

THE  day  that  followed  was  warm  as  May.  A  mellow  south 
wind  swept  away  the  few  ragged  snow-clouds  that  remained,  with 
scorn,  as  if  they  had  been  the  skirts  of  defeated  Winter.  The 
watery  blue  sky  began  to  thaw  into  Summer  tints;  heated  into  even 
saffron  and  scarlet  about  the  setting  sun,  and  when  he  was  gone, 
softened  into  faint  blushes  of  mist  about  the  horizon,  as  if  to  receive 
the  benediction  which  the  clear  pale  moon,  floating  up  the  west, 
brought  with  her. 

The  Avindows  of  the  long  suite  of  drawing-rooms,  in  Doctor 
Brodcrip's  house,  which  opened  to  the  south,  were  open ;  the 
curtains  waving  softly  to  and  fro  in  the  warm  evening  air,  the  lights 
burning  in  the  chandeliers  dimly  within.  Outside  there  were  plats 
of  grass,  with  here  and  there  a  crocus  opening .  too  early  its  leaves 
like  flakes  of  dulled,  forgotten  sunshine.  The  windows  of  the 
green-houses  were  pushed  up,  and  the  heavy  breaths  of  the  heli 
otropes  and  jessamines  crept  out  and  made  the  thin  air  sentient 
with  perfume. 

An  old  Scotch  gardener,  with  a  felt  hat  over  his  sandy,  canny 
face,  was  leisurely  peering  about  the  garden  slopes,  breaking  off  a 
bud  here  and  a  branch  there.  One  or  two  dogs  were  rolling  over 
the  grass ;  a  chubby-faced,  black-haired  boy  shouting  to  them  from 
the  low  window. 

lie  was  one  of  Broderip's  pets ;  for  the  surgeon  had  readied  the 
age  when  a  man's  love  of  children  instinctively  is  strongest,  and  he 
gratified  it  as  he  did  all  of  his  whirns.  There  were  two  or  three 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  Ill       - 

other  boys  in  the  house,  children  of  paupers  who  had  died  in  the 
hospital.  Mr.  Ottley  had  remonstrated  with  him,  perceiving  how 
quickly  his  jealous,  keen  affection 'developed. 

"  I  would  not  allow  myself  to  adopt  a  child  of  vicious  parents," 
he  said.  "You  are  storing  bitter  disappointment  for  your  old 
aire." 

"  Perhaps,  perhaps,"  Broderip  had  said,  drawing  the  boy's  long 
hair  through  his  fingers  as  he  stood  between  his  knees.  "But 
Philip  must  have  his  chance.  Eh,  Phil !  "  putting  his  thin  lips  to 
the  boy's  red  mouth.  His  face  had  a  jaded,  vacant  look,  new  to  it, 
Mr.  Ottley  had  fancied. 

"  Why  does  not  the  man  marry  and  have  wife  and  children  of 
his  own  ? "  he  thought,  angrily,  for,  like  all  men  who  knew  the 
little  surgeon  in  private,  Ottley  had  grown  attached  to  him. 

This  had  occurred  a  day  or  two  ago.  This  evening  Mr.  Ottley 
came  in  again,  on  his  road  home  to  dinner,  after  his  daily  drive. 
He  stopped  to  look  at  the  premature  crocuses,  to  chat  with  the 
gardener,  Stephenson,  and  to  romp  with  Phil  and  the  dogs ;  then 
he  sat  down  in  the  dim,  luxurious  rooms,  looking  critically  at  the 
bronzes  and  marbles  as  they  grew  clearer  in  the  dusky  light,  be 
coming  more  discontented  with  his  own  new  house.  "  Broderip 
furnishes  as  an  artist  paints,"  he  muttered.  "  A  little  dramatic  in 
his  effects,  perhaps,  but  he  gets  at  the  gist  of  the  matter  as  none  of 
us  do." 

lie  half-dozed,  while  waiting  the  surgeon's  leisure;  he  had  seen 
him  as  he  passed  the  left  wing  of  the  building  in  his  office,  standing 
writing  at  a  desk,  the  long,  gray  coat  almost  touching  his  ankles, 
his  sallow,  unsmiling  face  half  hidden  by  the  lank  locks  of  black 
hair  that  fell  over  it.  He  came  in,  presently,  through  one  of  the  low 
windows,  and  after  he  had  roused  Ottley,  stood  in  it,  holding  back 
the  curtain  to  catch  the  evening  air. 

"  You've  had  a  hard  day's  work,  Broderip,"  seeing  his  strained, 
anxious  face.  "I  came  on  business,  but  it  can  wait.  The  other 
surgeons  have  left  that  case  of  which  Farr  told  me,  to  you,  he  says. 
There  is  barely  a  chance  ?  " 

Broderip  moved  irritably;  he  tolerated  no  intrusion  into  his 
practice ;  it  was  his  own  domain,  where  only,  perhaps,  he  breathed 
free,  and  reached  his  full  stature.  "There's  a  chance,  nothing 
more,"  he  said. 

But  Ottley  was  not  to  be  thrust  aside.  Broderip  in  private  was 
but  a  sickly,  moody  fellow  whom  he  liked  as  he  would  a  woman  ; 
but  for  the  cool,  skilful  surgeon  he  had  a  sort  of  curious  awe,  as 
wielding  a  great  power  in  a  world  which  he  had  never  entered. 

u  If  you  succeed,  it  will  be  a  thorough  triumph  over  those 
fellows  !  "  rubbing  his  fat  little  hands  together. 

"What   does   that   matter?"   impatiently.     The   patien4,  was  a 


112  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

practical,  influential  man ;  hundreds  of  human  beings  were  bettered 
daily  by  his  presence  in  the  world.  The  surgeon  thought  of  this, 
and  thought  how  that  his  life  hung  on  one  movement  of  his  o\vn 
thin  fingers. 

"  He's  a  good  man,"  he  said,  with  a  shudder.  "  It  will  be  a  loss 
if  he  dies.  Come  in  and  dine  with  me,  Mr.  Ottley.  We  can  talk 
of  your  business  over  the  table." 

Ottley  hesitated.  Broderip's  cook  was  imported  with  as  much 
care  as  his  wines,  and  the  lawyer  was  a  bo?i  vivant  in  a  quiet  way. 
But  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  We  are  all  to  be  here  this  evening,  and  you  need  rest.  You 
are  working  too  hard,  Broderip,  much  too  hard.  It  was  a  trifling 
matter  I  wanted  to  mention.  I  know  you  are  down  in  Washington 
sometimes,  and  have  the  control  of  a  good  deal  of  patronage ;  friends 
at  court,  I  suppose,  eh  ?  " 

"  You  have  a  friend  that  wants  a  place  ?  "  smiling  and  drawing 
closer,  for  he  was  a  generous  man,  and  liked,  too,  to  play  the  patron. 

"  Well,  no,  not  a  friend,  precisely.  It's  a  young  fellow  in  whom 
Mary  has  taken  an  interest  (after  an  hour's  acquaintance  by  the 
way),  and  she  persuaded  me  to  call  on  him  this  morning.  He's  a 
young  Kentuckian;  came  up  here  to  enter  the  army;  one  of  the 
Randolphs  from  Pulaski  County." 

"  Randolph  ?  Yes.  I  met  the  man  yesterday,"  said  Broderip, 
gravely,  patting  the  dog  that  stood  by  his  knee. 

"  Ah  ?  A  fine  young  fellow,  I  think  ?  Gallant,  scholarly.  He 
belongs,  too,  to  one  of  those  sound  old  family  stocks  that  have  a 
hereditary  pride  in  keeping  their  record  clean.  Well,  he's  waiting 
here  with  empty  hands,  and  is  anxious  enough,  I  suspect." 

Finding  that  Broderip  remained  silent,  he  continued,  with  a  con 
scious  awkwardness,  "  Randolph  has  been  a  hard  student.  I  think 
there's  a  slight  stiflhess,  an  old-fashioned  mannerism  about  him  ;  but 
lie's  a  handsome  dog  !  A  pair  of  truthful,  blue  eyes  that  won  my 
wife  at  once.  By  the  way,  she  fancies  that  there  is  a  woman  in  the 
case." 

"  It  is  probable,"  still  stroking  Don's  silky  ears. 

"  Well,"  said  Ottley,  leisurely  flecking  a  bit  of  dust  from  his 
sleeve,  "  I  am  boy  enough  still  to  take  an  interest  in  a  love  affair, 
I'll  confess.  I'd  be  glad  if  I  could  assist  in  placing  the  young 
fellow,  if  it  would  help  him  to  a  home  and  wife  of  his  own.  They 
lire  the  birthright  of  every  man." 

"  Of  every  man  ?  "  looking  up  sharply. 

"  Yes,"  something  in  the  doctor's  face  made  him  answer,  gravely, 
"  I  think  so ;  unless,  like  you,  he  voluntarily  gives  them  up,"  with 
an  embarrassed  laugh.  "  But  that  is  not  the  point." 

"  No.     You  wanted  me  to  assist  this  Randolph  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  I  lay  no  stress  on  the  matter,  Broaerip,  understand. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  113 

lie  is  a  mere  chance  acquaintance ;  but  you  have  helped  me  with  so 
many  poor  devils,  that  when  I  want  to  be  benevolent,  I  turn  to  you 
as  naturally  as  Aladdin  did  to  his  hantern." 

There  was  no  smile  on  Broderip's  face.  It  was  immovably  calm 
and  grave. 

"  lie  wants  to  enter  the  army  ?     With  what  motive  ?  " 

"  To  uphold  the  Constitution,  I  suppose,"  replied  Ottley,  tartly. 
"  Certainly  not  for  the  abolition  of  slavery.  Men  like  that  are  not 
to  be  made  the  tools  of  New  England  radicals  and  agitators." 

He  changed  his  position,  his  face  reddened,  he  pushed  his  coat 
open. 

"Then  you  think,"  said  Broderip,  quietly,  "that  the  war  will  not 
result  necessarily  in  that  ?  There  will  be  no  change  in  the  condition 
of  the  slaves  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  Why,  sir,  emancipate  them  and  where  can  you 
stop  ?  We  will  be  asked  to  jostle  at  the  polls  with  negroes,  bring 
them  to  our  tables,  marry  them  to  our  daughters!  Besides,"  lifting 
his  hand  when  Broderip  would  have  spoken,  "  the  two  races  differ — 
differ  vitally.  If  you  attempt  to  put  them  on  the  same  plane,  it 
will  end  in  the  destruction  of  the  weaker.  There  is  not  an  Irish 
hodman,  or  Dutch  mechanic  who  does  not  know  the  negro  is  his 
inferior,  and  will  not  join  to  put  him  down  if  he  tries  to  compete 
with  him  in  free  labor.  It  is  the  old  story  of  the  earthen  and  iron 
pitcher.  But  it  is  common  sense  and  philosophy  also.  Don't  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  understand."  After  a  pause,  he  said  persistently,  as  if  he 
had  failed  to  comprehend  Ottley's  full  meaning,  "  You  have  a  good 
deal  of  foresight  as  a  politician,  Ottley.  Do  you  think  that  the 
time  in  this  country  will  never  come  when  the  negro  will  have  a 
chance  to  make  the  man  of  himself  which  God  intended  him  to  be  ?  " 

"  God,  sir,  intended  him  to  be  a  servant  in  the  tents  of  his  breth 
ren." 

Broderip  smiled,  and  Ottley  raised  his  voice.  "  The  defects  are 
inherent  in  his  blood  which  will  keep  him  down.  He  is  indolent, 
treacherous  and  sensual." 

Broderip  did  not  raise "his  head.  "A  bad  record  certainly.  But 
as  neither  he  nor  his  ancestors  have  ever  owned  a  family  name,  and 
as  he  changes  home  and  wife  with  every  change  of  master,  the  lack 
of  that  'hereditary  pride  in  keeping  his  record  clean'  of  which 
you  talked  may  have  something  to  do  with  it." 

Ottley  turned  a  puzzled  face  on  him :  "  I  did  riot  know  you  were 
a  radical,  doctor.  Well,  the  sum  of  the  whole  matter  is,  that  there 
is  no  chance  for  the  black  man  here.  Never  will  be.  Give  him 
his  liberty,  enact  what  laws  you  please,  you  never  can  eradicate 
the  caste  prejudice:  the  instinct  that  separates  the  races." 

Broderip  rose  hastily :  "  Instinct  ?  instinct  ?  That  is  it,"  he  walked 
8 


114  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

uncertainly  across  the  room.  "  I  recognize  the  truth  in  that.  You 
have  touched  the  root  of  the  matter." 

He  was  silent  so  long  that  Ottley  moved  impatiently. 

"We  are  forgetting  our  friend  Randolph,"  the  surgeon  said, 
leaning  on  the  back  of  a  chair :  "  the  man  who  wants  me  to  help 
him  to  his  birthright  of  home  and  wife ! " 

Ottley  came  back  with  a  touch  to  good-humor :  "  Yes.  Now, 
there  are  some  men  whom  one  would  suppose  nature  never  intended 
to  need  a  birth-right ; "  glancing  over  the  thin  gray  figure  and  sal 
low,  bitter  face  before  him,  grave  and  austere  as  a  Romish  priest's ; 
"but  this  young  fellow,  I  think,  will  appreciate  both  to  the  full." 

The  twilight  without  was  darkening.  Broderip  waited  until  a 
servant  passing  through  the  rooms,  had  closed  the  windows,  and 
brightened  the  gas-light ;  then  he  said,  still  standing  and  keeping 
his  hand  on  the  dog's  head,  "  I  think  it  a  curious  coincidence  that 
you  should  have  asked  a  favor  of  me  for  this  young  fellow,  Ottley. 
I  saw  him  last  night,  and — I  am  full  of  superstitious  fancies,  as  you 
know — I  thought  it  safer  that  I  should  avoid  him." 

Ottley  looked  at  him  bewildered. 

Broderip  hesitated :  passing  his  hand  quickly  over  his  face. 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  slowly,  choosing  his  words  with  difficulty. 
"There  is  a  class  of  men  with  whom  it  is  better  I  should  not 
come  in  contact.  They — did  not  help  me  or  mine  in  life  as  they 
might  have  done."  There  was  a  curious,  grim  smile  on  his  face,  as 
if  some  subtle  meaning  lay  in  his  moderated  words.  "  In  fact,  I 
owe  them  so  little,  that  it  is  hardly  fitting  that  one  of  them  should 
come  to  me  for  largesse  or  bounty." 

"But  this  Randolph?" 

"  I  have  no  personal  ill-will  to  that  boy ;  what  could  I  have  ? 
Yet,  yesterday,  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  very  presentment  and 
type  of  these  men  who  were  not  my  friends.  He  has  all  their  traits, 
for  good  or  for  evil." 

Now,  Ottley  had  a  vague  notion  that  the  surgeon  was  holding 
some  unwonted  emotion  out  of  sight  under  the  monotonous  quiet 
of  his  words ;  and  he  had  the  same  kind  of  respect  and  tenderness 
for  the  little  man's  whims,  and  unreasonable  antipathies,  that  he 
would  have  had  for  those  of  a  child,  whose  brain  was  unnaturally 
forced  and  diseased ;  he  rose  at  once,  buttoning  his  coat,  preparing 
to  go  :  "If  you  have  any  such  fancy  about  the  young  man,  doctor," 
he  said,  heartily,  "  I  will  not  press  the  matter.  I  am  only  sorry 
I  mentioned  it.  Put  it  out  of  your  mind  altogether.  You  owe 
nothing  to  him,  or  his  kin,  whoever  they  may  be." 

"  No  ;  that  is  true  ;  I  owe  them  nothing." 

As  he  walked  to  the  door,  Ottley  saw,  when  they  came  under 
the  light,  that  his  face  was  quite  colorless,  and  his  hand,  when  he 
touched  it,  was  dry  and  cold. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  115 

He  held  it  a  moment  kindly.  "  These  people  will  not  be  here 
for  an  hour  or  two.  Go  and  sleep,  Broderip.  You're  overworked. 
You  will  run  yourself  down  faster' than  you  think." 

"  Yes,"  uncertainly.  "  But— about  that  Randolph,  Ottley  ?  Give 
me  to-night  to  think  of  it.  I  could  find  him  a  place  with  ease, 
if  I  chose." 

"  I  would  not  do  it,"  said  Ottley,  as  he  stepped  out  on  the  steps, 
on  which  the  moon  was  now  gleaming  brightly.  "  I  wouldn't  do  it. 
You  have  enough  to  think  of,  with  men's  lives  daily  depending  on 
your  coolness  and  judgment,  without  taking  this  young  man's  for 
tune  in  hand.  Especially  as  you  have  conceived  this  antipathy  to 
him." 

"  I'll  think  of  it.     I'll  let  you  know  to-night,"  he  said,  abruptly. 

As  Ottley  sprang  into  his  buggy  and  drove  ofl',  he  looked  back 
once  or  twice  at  the  steps  where  Broderip  stood  in  the  moonlight, 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  looking  vacantly  down  the 
lonely  street.  His  face  and  little,  lean  figure  in  its  queer,  old- 
fashioned  clothes,  made  him  look  oddly  like  a  boy  who  had  been 
forced  into  a  man's  trouble  with  his  dress. 

"  One  would  think  he  fed  on  opium,  with  his  unreasonable  likings 
and  antipathies,"  said  the  lawyer,  impatiently,  glancing  down  a 
moment  after,  complacently,  at  his  own  pursy,  comfortable  little 
person. 

Broderip  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments,  then,  as  if  prompted 
by  some  sudden  idea,  he  turned  and  went  in,  hastily  ascending  a 
flight  of  stairs,  and  passing  through  a  long  corridor  to  one  of  the 
rooms  which  had  been  set  apart  when  he  bought  the  house,  for  his 
mother's  use.  He  tapped  at  the  door. 

"  John  ?  "  said  a  quick,  piping  voice  within. 

"  Yes,  it  is  John."  His  manner,  even  his  voice  relaxed  as  he 
crossed  the  threshhold. 

It  was  a  large,  cheerful  room,  with  an  open,  blazing  fire  and  soft, 
shaded  lights,  but  there  was  an  excess  of  color  and  luxury  in  its 
appointments  which  jarred  on  the  eye.  On  one  side  of  the  fire  a 
low  lounge  stood,  the  small,  pale  face  of  an  old  woman  rising  out 
of  an  untidy  heap  of  red  silk  quilt  and  white  pillows.  Her  gray 
hair  was  straggling  down,  the  lace  cap  was  askew,  one  white,  wrin 
kled  hand  moved  restlessly,  disarranging  the  newspapers  and 
pamphlets  scattered  about  her. 

"  Wheel  the  table  closer  to  the  fire.  Doctor  Broderip  will  dine 
here,"  she  said  to  a  servant.  "That  is  for  my  own  comfort,  John," 
turning  to  him.  "  The  days  drag,  when  one  lies  here,  half  dead," 
tapping  on  her  left  hand  which  lay  motionless  and  covered,  with 
her  right.  "  They  drag.  Sit  down  there,  opposite  to  me." 

She  raised  her  head  as  she  spoke,  sharply  inspecting  the  little 
table,  then  put  out  her  hand  touching  the  delicate  napery,  the 


116  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

heaped  flowers  and  grapes  which  caught  the  light  like  crystals  of 
sea-green  and  purple,  the  glass  thin  as  golden  bubbles  ;  she  had  the 
eager  delight  in  her  face  of  one  to  whom  wealth  and  its  comforts 
were  a  novelty.  Broderip  watched  her  with  a  diverted  smile  :  they 
were  necessities  to  him,  but  to  her  always  would  be  luxuries.  She 
caught  his  look,  and  her  faded,  blue  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I  know.  It's  weak.  But  they  smooth  the  way  down ;  they 
smooth  the  way.  And  it's  the  contrast  with  old  times  !  Now, 
you  forget  what  we  have  been." 

"  Am  I  likely  to  forget  ?  Do  they  give  me  time  ?  "  The  quiet 
amusement  faded  out  of  his  face,  and  he  looked  steadily  down  at  her 
from  where  he  stood  on  the  hearth  rug. 

She  took  up  a  newspaper,  fluttering  the  pages  uneasily,  and 
watching  him  furtively,  but  asking  no  questions. 

"  Words,  words  ! "  after  reading  a  scrap  here  and  there,  in  a  pip 
ing  tone.  "  The  old  constitution  ?  The  bird  has  grown  too  large 
for  that  shell,  eh,  John  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  politician.    Why  should  I  be  ?     If  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  touch  his,  and  let  it  fall,  irresolutely,  her 
jolly,  shrewd,  little  face  filling  with  uncomplaining  trouble,  the 
dregs  of  some  old,  assured  pain.  "  Poor  boy  !  Is  it  there  the  hurt 
lies?  " 

John  looked  down  at  her,  thinking  he  was  a  brute,  to  come  whin 
ing  to  her.  Then  he  pulled  a  low  stool  near  the  lounge,  and  sat 
down,  unlacing  his  shoes,  and  thrusting  his  feet  into  a  pair  of  slip 
pers  which  she  had  in  readiness. 

"  Ha,  that's  comfort !  The  old  hurt  galls  a  little,  at  times,"  he 
said,  cheerfully.  "But  we  must  look  for  that,  you  know.  No  mat 
ter  what  work  or  study  I  begin,  the  remembrance  comes  that  there 
is  something  here"  (drawing  one  finger  across  his  forehead),  "  which 
must  one  day  come  to  light.  Let  me  make  my  life  what  I  will,  it 
is  a  thing  which  the  vilest  ruffian  in  Moyamensing  prison  would 
not  exchange  for  his  own.  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  that.  No." 
His  face  had  dropped  between  his  palms,  and,  with  the  hot  fire  red 
dening  it,  it  looked  still  more  like  that  of  a  weak,  uncertain  boy. 

She  held  her  one  hand  over  her  eyes,  her  lips  moving,  but  she 
said  nothing.  Whatever  his  pain  was,  the  mother-soul  in  the  pal 
sied  little  body  tasted  it,  bitter  as  it  came  to  him.  He  looked  up 
presently. 

"  Why  !  why  ! "  hurriedly  taking  her  fingers,  and  chafing  them 
in  both  hands.  "  After  all,  it  never  may  happen,  or,  or — it  may  be 
years  at  least  before  it  comes.  We  will  forget  it  now.  Let  us  talk 
of  something  else." 

"No.  There  was  a  chance  I  thought  of —  Give  me  a  drink, 
John,  there  is  water  on  the  table.  There  was  a  thing  I  have  wanted 
to  tell  you  of,"  as  he  lifted  her,  holding  the  glass  to  her  colorless  lips. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  117 

"  There  is  no  chance,"  quickly,  as  he  gently  laid  her  down.  "  I 
have  thought  of  it  for  twenty  years.  God  knows  if  I  have  tried, 
day  after  day,  to  be  like  other  men.  No ;  I  was  forced,  as  this  dog 
here,  into  a  brute  body.  No  matter  what  brain  or  soul  is  in  it,  it 
cannot  be  done  away.  It  is  better  not  to  talk  of  it.  But  we  have 
had  hard  measure ;  eh,  Don,  old  fellow  ?  "  with  a  miserable,  boyish 
Binile,  pulling  the  dog  closer  to  him. 

She  put  out  her  hand,  covering  his  thin  jaws,  as  though  the  sight 
of  his  face  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"  John  !  "  she  cried ;  "  John ! " 

He  bent  over  her.  "  Kneel  down  here,  close — I'm  weak-witted 
and  silly,"  her  eyes  wandering.  "  My  brain's  half  dead  with  the 
rest.  To  think  what  help  he  needs,  and  that  he  has  nothing  but 
me ! "  and  the  commonplace  little  face  lost  all  trace  of  its  absurdity 
with  its  great  humility  and  pain.  Broderip  stroked  back  the  rough, 
white  hair  gently. 

"  I  think  you  have  forgotten  all  that  you  have  been  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  I  know  nothing  of  the  God  of  the  churches,  but  you  I  do 
know.  You  have  been  humane  and  just  to  me." 

"  That  is  blasphemy." 

"No;  it  is  fact.  Who  dealt  hardly  with  me,  if  not  His  people? 
But  you — "  He  smiled  down  at  her,  an  unspeakable  tenderness 
and  sincerity  in  his  look  which  should  have  made  any  mother  con 
tent  with  her  work. 

Yet  there  was  a  great  gulf  between  the  ignorant,  feather-brained 
woman,  and  the  man  to  whom  God  had  given  ten  talents  wherewith 
to  help  the  world,  if  not  to  work  out  his  own  salvation.  She  knew 
that,-and  spoke  with  hesitation.  She  never  had  advised  him  since  he 
was  a  ,boy. 

"  I  have  something  to  say.  But  I  have  such  poor  words.  Some 
thing  like  this,  John.  When  I  was  young,  I  used  to  think  if  ever  I 
had  a  son,  I  would  want  to  see  the  true  man  in  him  grow  out  of  all 
likeness  or  traces  of  his  lower  nature.  Just  as  the  soul  in  Don 
here  will  come  out  clean  and  whole  from  his  brute  body,  some 
day." 

"  In  Don  ?  Don  f  "  eagerly.     "  I  understand  ! " 

"  In — all  of  us,"  growing  paler.  "  We  all  have  an  ugly,  loath 
some  shell  to  creep  out  of,  vices  and  passions  left  by  some  accursed 
old  grandfather  in  our  blood.  I  used  to  think  that,  if  I  had  a  son, 
I  would  work  for  him,  I  would  wear  God's  patience  out,  until  I  had 
helped  him  to  his  true  manhood." 

"Yes." 

She  looked  down  now,  avoiding  his  eye ;  they  both  were  silent. 
Whatever  their  secret  was,  it  rose  barely  between  them,  and  neither 
of  them  faced  it.  It  was  noticeable,  too,  that,  with  all  the  pity  and 
awe  in  her  face,  she  neither  held  his  hand,  nor  touched  his  hair,  nor 


118  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

made  use  of  any  of  those  little  mute  signs  of  affection  to  which 
mothers  are  so  prone. 

;"  I  thought,"  she  continued,  "  that  when  I  had  done  all  I  could 
for  my  boy,  I  would  thank  God  if  He  gave  him  one  gift,  better 
than  any." 

The  surgeon  moved  suddenly,  his  face  growing  pale. 

"  The  one  thing,"  raising  her  voice,  "  which  would  develop  and 
educator  him  as  no  books  or  travel  could  do.  It  is  the  way  by 
which  God  oftenest  shows  Himself  to  women,  and  to  men  who  are 
like  them." 

Broderip  did  not  speak  for  a  moment ;  then  he  rose  slowly,  as  if 
his  limbs  pained  him,  and  resumed  his  old  position  in  front  of 
the  fire.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  constrained 
quiet. 

"  I  mean  love,  John.     A  strong,  good,  human  love." 

She  looked  steadily  at  her  dead  hand  lying  livid  and  motionless 
on  the  paper ;  whatever  pain  or  loss  that  sight  meant  to  her,  had 
grown  stale  from  custom.  But  she  could  not  look  at  John's  face. 
She  did  not  look  at  him,  even,  when,  finding  that  he  made  no 
answer,  she  went  on,  after  clearing  her  throat,  her  double  chin  quiv 
ering  a  little  : 

"  I  would  have  given  to  my  boy,  if  I  could,  a  wife  and  children. 
Yes,  I  would ;  a  man  has  a  right  to  that,  no  matter  what  other  pri 
vations  he  may  have  to  bear." 

She  held  her  breath  to  listen,  the  fingers  of  her  shaking  left  hand 
wandering  over  her  face.  For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  then 
she  heard  him  take  one  step  closer  to  her. 

"  You  seldom  speak  at  random.     Do  you  mean  me  ?     Me  ?  " 

The  hand  grew  suddenly  still ;  her  breath  came  hurriedly ;  her 
eyes  wandered,  frightened,  to  the  ceiling,  to  the  cheery  fire,  to  the 
darkness  outside  of  the  window — everywhere  but  to  his  face. 

"  I  said,"  doggedly,  "  that  a  man  had  a  right  to  be  loved,  to  have 
a  home,  and  wife,  and  children  of  his  own.  A  right." 

"I  heard  that  said  once  before  to-night.  It  seems  to  be  an 
accepted  rule  in  a  purely  moral  and  humane  code,  such  as  this 
church  system  in  the  States,  which  is  called  Christianity.  There  are 
some  human  rights,  from  which  I  am  excluded  by  the  followers  of 
that  code,  as  it  is  practised,  however." 

"  I  know,  John." 

"  Is  this  one  of  them  ?     Do  you  mean  me  ?  " 

She  looked  up,  turning  pale ;  she  looked  at  the  small,  stooped 
figure  between  her  and  the  fire ;  at  the  face  which  had  a  new  and 
strangely  credulous  look ;  at  the  thin  lips,  half  parted  into  a  smile ; 
at  the  melancholy  hazel  eyes  following  her  every  motion  with  a  ter 
rible  hunger  and  loneliness. 

"  You  know  me — what  my  life  has  been.     I  think  it  has  been 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  119 

pure,"  under  his  breath.  "  You  know  all,"  with  the  same  slight, 
hardly  perceptible  motion  of  his  finger  across  his  face.  "  Do  you 
tell  me  that  I  have  a  right  to  ask  a  good,  pure  woman  to  be  my 
wife  ?  that  I  have  a  right  to  be  the  father  of  her  children  ?  " 

She  held  her  eyes  steadily  on  his  face,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  I  will  trust  to  you  for  the  truth.  Your  mind  always  lies  nearer 
to  the  true  God  than  mine.  He  knows  I  want  to  do  what's  right.'* 
He  walked  slowly  across  the  room. 

"  John,"  she  said  with  an  effort,  and  then  stopped.  "  John,  if 
a  woman  puts  her  hands  in  yours  and  says  that  she  loves,  I 
would  say  that  He  meant  you  for  each  other.  I  would  say,  to 
marry  her."  She  began  hesitatingly,  but  gained  boldness  as  she 
went  on. 

He  stopped  in  his  walk,  as  it  happened,  under  the  gas-light,  his 
eyes  burning,  as  though  a  different  face  than  the  old  vehement  one 
on  the  pillow  were  before  him. 

"  To  marry  her  ?  When  she  is  found,  I  am  to  show  her  all  the 
faults  of  me — the  miserable  weaknesses.  I'll  do  that.  I  have  a 
beast's  temper — I  am  greedy  of  money — I  affect  fashionable  society, 
God  knows,  these  are  contemptible  vices  enough.  But  if  she  loves 
me,  in  spite  of  all,  will  there  be  more  to  tell  ?  May  she  come  to 
me,  seeing  only  that  part  of  me  in  my  soul  or  brain  for  which  I  am 
responsible,  or  must  I  go  back  and  show  her  the  hard  injustice  dealt 
to  me  before  I  was  born?" 

She  looked  again  at  the  smile,  glowing  now  over  his  face — at  the 
half-quenched  hunger  in  his  eyes.  Was  it  necessary  to  tell  a  truth 
which  would  give  him,  as  he  said,  the  position  of  poor  Don  in  Jife  ? 
He  had  been  such  a  good,  manly  boy,  such  a  loving,  tender  son ! 
Was  it  necessary  ?  It  would  not  be  a  lie ;  it  would  only  be  silence. 
And  if  it  were  a  lie,  the  woman  would  not  in  truth  be  wronged  by 
it.  The  woman  ?  There  was  one,  actually  present  to  his  mind,  she 
saw.  It  was  no  new  idea  which  she  had  suggested.  And  with  the 
touch,  her  brain  filled  with  a  sudden  fever  of  curiosity,  and  tender, 
womanly  fancies  and  surmises. 

"  I — I  hardly  can  advise  in  such  a  case,  John.  It  is  the  man  that 
a  woman  accepts  in  a  true  marriage,  I  think,  and  not  the  faults  or — 
or  diseases  of  his  ancestors.  But  it  is  not  for  me  to  judge  what 
amount  of  candor  would  be  just  to  her." 

"  No  ;  that  is  for  me  to  judge."  He  paused  a  little,  and  then — 
"  If  I  ever  bring  a  wife  home  to  you,  you  will  find  her  candor  itself," 
he  said,  with  sudden  gayety,  coloring  like  a  girl.  She  looked 
shrewdly  up,  but  checked  the  question  on  her  lips,  and  took  up  her 
paper  again,  while  Broderip  rang  for  dinner. 

"  I  am  starving,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down,  and  began  to  pull  about 
her  heaped  grapes,  while  waiting,  humming  the  burden  of  some 
street  song.  Her  face  beamed  red  with  pleasure  as  she  watched 


120  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

the  sudden,  light-hearted  look.  She  threw  down  the  paper  and 
busied  herself  about  his  dinner,  tasting  and  scolding  and  clucking 
over  it  like  a  hen  about  her  chicks.  With  half  of  her  body  dead, 
enough  remained  to  be  a  terror  to  servants,  with  whom  she  alter 
nately  fought,  and  fraternized.  Broderip  ate,  and  listened  with  an 
amused  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  Cloyne  tells  me  that  the  house  is  open  for  guests  to-night, 
John  ?  "  when  they  were  alone. 

«  Yes." 

"  That  sharp-edged  old  rapier,  Friend  Blanchard,  is  coming,  and 
Miss  Burley,  the  carpenter's  daughter?  They  were  detained  near 
the  gate  this  morning,  and  Cloyne  lifted  me  to  the  window.  It  is  a 
wonderful  face — that  girl's.  Ach-h ! "  the  ugly  visage  with  its 
frowsy  gray  hair  rolling  about  on  the  pillow  with  an  odd  mixture 
of  fun  and  discontent.  "  One  could  bear  even  old  age  to  have  once 
carried  such  beauty  through  the  world."  She  watched  him  keenly 
through  all  her  affected  grimaces.  But  he  listened  indifferently, 
she  saw,  only  saying  that  it  "  was  an  honest,  unconscious  face,"  and 
then  growing  silent,  and  thoughtful.  He  sat  a  long  time,  breaking 
the  stems  of  the  grapes  on  his  plate,  and  sipping  some  sweet,  slug 
gish  cordial  in  preference  to  the  fiery  wines  which  stood  at  his 
elbow.  He  looked  up  at  last,  speaking  sharply ;  as  she  had  looked 
for  him  to  do. 

"  If  you  had  your  hand  on  the  throat  of  a  man  to  whom  you 
owed  a  long  debt  of  revenge,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

Her  face  twinkled  significantly.  "According  to  the  spirit,  I 
would  forgive  and  bless  him ;  carnally  speaking,  I  always  found  a 
satisfaction  in  paying  any  sort  of  debt,  John." 

He  pushed  his  chair  back. 

"  This  man  and  his  kin  have  made  me  what  I  am.  Chance  has  so 
placed  him  in  my  power  that  I  could  put  the  bitter  draught  to  his  lips 
now,  and  make  him  drink  it,  drop  by  drop.  But  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  be  a  brave  thing  to  do  to  let  him  go,  and  to  keep  silence  so 
that  neither  he  nor  any  one  should  ever  suspect  the  danger  he  had 
been  in.  That  would  be  what  you  would  call  noble,  manly,  eh  ?  " 
anxiously. 

"  Yes  ;  it  would.     Chivalric." 

He  laughed  eagerly.  "  Chivalric  ?  Well  then,  John  Broderip 
lifts  the  rod.  So  !  so  ! "  He  began  walking  about  the  room,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window,  pulling  a  leaf  from  a  bouquet,  laughing  again 
and  again  to  himself.  Coming  up  suddenly  to  her — 

"  Besides,  if  I  am  to  have  the  rights  of  a  man,  I  must  act  as  a 
man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  John."  But  she  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  watched  with 
almost  dismay  the  elastic  step,  the  heat  in  his  hollow  cheeks,  and 
content  in  his  eye. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  121 

«« John—" 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  gently. 

"  I  would  not  be  confident.  Remember  that  you  build  upon  the 
sand." 

"  So  far  as  the  woman  is  concerned,  yes.  But " — he  stopped,  his 
momentary  childish  thrill  of  delight  over,  the  old,  dignified  gravity 
subduing  him  again ;  but  he  still  stood  erect,  his  melancholy  eyes 
on  fire. 

"  I  am  listening,  John." 

"  I  did  not  build  upon  the  sand  in  this  :  that,  whatever  God  has 
made  of  me,  He  did  not  hinder  me  from  being  a  man.  If  they 
knew  all,  they  would  put  me  on  a  par  with  the  brute  yonder.  But 
in  spite  of  them,  I  could  yet  do  for  them  a  true  chivalric  deed,  such  as 
you  called  this." 

"  But  "—doubtfully,  "  who  will  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  will  know  it.  If  I  am  to  have  the  place  of  a  man,  I  will  play 
a  man's  part." 

He  bade  her  good-night,  soon  after.  As  she  looked  after  him : 
"  He  is  but  a  boy  in  size,  and  has  a  weak  boy's  mind  in  some  ways," 
she  said.  She  thought  anxiously,  too,  of  the  advice  she  had  given 
him.  It  was  her  love  that  had  forced  it  from  her  against  her  judg 
ment  ;  his  life  had  been  such  a  hard  strain  since  his  birth ;  he  never 
had  romped  and  played  like  other  children ;  even  at  that  age  his 
eye  had  caught  that  sad,  furtive  glance,  of  one  who  waits  momenta 
rily  for  detection  and  insult. 

"  Why,  he  used  to  be  afraid  of  even  me.  Such  a  manly,  generous 
little  fellow  ! "  she  thought,  going  back  to  the  old  time,  to  the  les 
sons  she  had  taught,  and  the  suits  she  had  made  for  him,  as  foolish 
women  will.  How  could  she  tell  him  to-night  that  he  was  never  to 
have  a  man's  portion,  as  he  never  had  had  a  child's  ?  "  But  he 
never  will.  Love  and  marriage  are  not  for  him.  He  should  submit 
to  God's  will."  She  covered  her  face  with  the  newspaper  and  lay 
quite  still  for  a  long  time ;  and  the  servants,  thinking  she  was  asleep, 
gently  lowered  the  gas,  and  left  her.  But  she  was  only  thinking 
over  her  last  words :  "  Was  it  God's  will  ?  Was  it  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    MA.X    SEEKS    HIS    EIGHT. 

"  MR.  RANDOLPH  ! " 

Garrick  had  been  wandering  through  the  softly  lighted  rooms  in 
search  of  his  host :  he  saw  the  Ijttle,  stiff,  long-coated  figure,  now, 
coming  to  meet  him  from  a  group  of  ladies,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
Broderip  only  bowed,  not  seeing  it,  apparently,  but  his  welcome  in 
words  was  so  eager  and  cordial,  that  Randolph  did  not  note  tho 


122  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

omission.  Unconsciously,  he  still  adhered  to  his  vague  idea  that 
the  surgeon  was  a  Frenchman,  and  consequently  received  his  uneasy, 
uncertain  manner,  and  half  intelligible  sentences  as  the  misfortune 
of  foreign  birth. 

"  You  are  most  welcome,  Mr.  Randolph,"  he  repeated.  "  There 
is  no  man  living  whom  I  would  rather  see  under  my  roof,  or  eating 
my  salt  with  me.  I  have,  too,  a  matter  of  importance  to  discuss 
with  you." 

"  With  me  ? "  said  Randolph,  surprised.  "  Some  information, 
probably,  which  you  desire  respecting  affairs  in  our  State?" 

"  No ;  I  take  bat  little  interest  in  any  State  as  a  State.  This 
world  is  to  me  only  a  vast  concourse  of  sound  and  broken  human 
ware,  and  I  am  permitted  to  tinker  therein  for  a  while.  That 
is  my  only  view  of  life.  As  for  ideas  of  patriotism,  or  liberty,  or 
State  rights  " — with  a  smile  and  shrug,  "  I  leave  them  to  a  higher 
class  of  physicians.  Nations  and  their  laws  are  sound  and  unsound, 
as  well  as  bodies,  I  presume  ?  " 

Randolph  bowed  civilly,  thinking  what  a  mole-like  intellect  it 
must  be  which  could  not  see  beyond  its  own  petty  work.  A  man 
who  did  not  care  for  his  State ! 

"My  business  regarded  yourself,  solely,"  said  Broderip,  with  the 
same  repressed  eagerness  in  his  tone. 

The  young  Kentuckian  turned,  surprised. 

"  I  understand  that  you  came  North  to  engage  in  active  life.  Mr. 
Ottley  was  my  informant.  He  stated  that  you  wished  occupation 
not  inconsistent  with  your  family  dignity,  and  your  own  character." 

If  there  were  any  sneers  covert  in  the  bland  words,  Garrick  was 
the  last  man  to  suspect  them.  "  That  was  certainly  my  wish,"  he 
said  simply.  "  But,"  recollecting  himself,  with  a  bow,  and  a  sudden 
assertant  politeness,  "  I  detain  you  from  your  guests,  Doctor  Brod 
erip.  If  the  business  only  concerns  me,  suffer  it  to  wait  your  con 
venience.  To-morrow,  probably  " — 

"  It  shall  not  wait  a  moment,  young  man.  I  must  do  this  before 
I  sleep,"  with  vehemence.  "  I  have  written  a  letter  to  Washington 
to-night,  which  will  secure  you  a  safe  and  honorable  place,  if  you 
will  accept  it  from  me.  It  lies  on  my  desk,  the  ink  not  yet  dry 
Will  you  come  and  look  at  it  ?  "  moving  hastily  to  a  side-door. 

Garrick  followed  his  short,  impatient  steps  through  the  long  hal 
to  the  door  of  his  private  office,  bewildered  alike  at  the  man's  offer 
and  his  manner. 

"  It  is  a  safe  post,"  said  Broderip,  stopping  with  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob.  "  Civil  service.  Not  that  I  doubt  your  courage.  But 
I  must  not  repeat  the  old  story  of  David  and  Uriah,  eh  ?  " 

Half  an  hour  afterward  Mr.  Randolph  came  out  of  the  office,  hia 

face  flushed,  and  his  broad  shoulders  thrown  back.     He  hurried  to 

\     the  music-room  where  the  few  guests  were  gathered,  and  after  a 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  123 

nervous  glance  about  it  to  see  if  Rosslyn  had  yet  appeared,  drew 
Ottley  aside. 

"  I  feel  like  a  man  again !  Your  Doctor  Broderip  has  found  me 
standing  room,"  he  said,  impetuously,  "just  as  I  was  beginning  to 
think  the  Randolphs  were  but  useless  lumber  in  the  world,  now-a- 
days.  This  proves  that  I  was  mistaken.  There  is  no  passport  like 
a  good  name,"  complacently.  "  His  letter  showed  a  fair  appreciation 
of  that — very  fair.  It  was  one  which  would  have  pleased  my  family 
with  him." 

"Broderip  usually  does  a  graceful  thing  gracefully,"  said  Ottley, 
dryly. 

He  crossed  the  room  presently  to  where  some  young  men  were 
laughing  at  the  surgeon's  pungent  jokes,  for  he  had  a  caustic  wit 
when  he  was  exhilarated  by  society  or  wine. 

"  I  thought  you  would  not  fail  me,"  the  lawyer  said,  heartily,  put 
ting  his  hand  on  Broderip's  shoulder,  as  a  boy  might.  "  I'm  glad 
you  conquered  your  antipathy  to  the  young  fellow." 

"  Conquered  it  ? "  Broderip  glanced  over  at  the  Southerner's 
sinewy  figure  and  abstracted  face,  on  which  was  the  chiselling  of 
generations  of  ease  and  culture.  "  Conquered  it  ?  "  But  to  Ottley 
he  only  said,  calmly,  "  The  boy  has  the  head  of  a  scholar,"  because 
Randolph,  as  he  had  told  him,  was  under  his  roof  and  eating  his 
salt. 

Society  was  greedy  that  Winter  of  invitations  to  these  receptions, 
because  they  were  given  captiously,  and  for  reasons  ;  and  then, 
Broderip  and  his  house  were  both  exceptional.  Curiosity .t  if  no 
higher  motive,  gave  zest  and  interest  to  the  faces  of  the  guests ; 
those  of  them,  who  had  been  there  before  this  evening,  were 
astonished  and  perplexed  by  his  manner;  there  was  a  genial,  hearty 
ring  in  his  voice,  a  genuineness  in  his  welcome,  an  unaffected 
sympathy  with  the  common  mood  utterly  different  from  his  usual 
bizarre  caprices,  which  they  had  begun  to  count  upon  confidently. 
Ottley  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  the  surgeon  so  conventional, 
or  so  agreeable. 

Once  he  saw  him,  standing  apart  with  Mr.  Conrad,  look  beyond 
the  old  man  at  some  figure  in  the  distance,  and  wondered  to  himself 
whether  it  was  love  or  hate  that  so  unsealed  his  face,  and  lighted  his 
eyes. 

It  was  Margaret  Conrad  that  Broderip  was  watching.  She  had 
left  her  father  when  he  approached  ;  it  had  become  a  habit  with  her 
to  avoid  him.  He  could  see  her,  however,  as  she  walked,  leaning  on 
a  young  officer's  arm,  down  the  long  suite  of  apartments. 

There  were  no  filagree  prettinesses  in  Broderip's  rooms,  no  glitter 
ing  surprises,  or  fatiguing  beauty ;  they  were  warmly  colored,  with 
clear  tints,  large  and  liberal ;  there  was  a  bust  here,  a  picture  there ; 
their  meaning  was  pure  and  quiet,  but  unassertant,  as  the  atmos- 


124  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

phere  about  a  thoroughbred  woman.  You  were  not  conscious  of 
them  while  present,  but  when  you  were  gone  you  remembered  them 
as  the  place  of  all  others  where  you  could  surest  find  a  great  rest,  01 
a  great  pleasure.  They  were  filled  with  music  now — a  full,  tri 
umphant  tone. 

Broderip  stood  apart ;  his  eyes  unconsciously  followed  the  sweep 
of  Margaret  Conrad's  cream-colored,  lustreless  drapery  as  it  marked 
her  quiet  movement.  The  rooms  had  always  been  vacant  to  him 
before  ;  they  were  filled  now,  never  to  be  empty  again.  He  thought 
of  that  with  a  new,  poignant  pain  of  delight  in  his  narrow  chest, 
and  a  scalding  moisture  in  his  eyes.  He  had  not  spoken  to  her  after 
her  entrance.  Even  then  the  words  had  died  inarticulate  in  his 
throat.  He  could  have  cursed  his  childish  diffidence.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  his  life  hung  trembling  in  the  balance,  and  a  breath,  a 
straw,  might  save  or  lose  it.  Now,  when  his  judgment  should  be 
coolest,  he  was  left  to  the  mercy  of  every  breath  of  passion  or  feel- 
9  ing.  Presently,  seeing  that  the  officer  and  Miss  Conrad  appeared 
mutually  tired  of  each  other,  he  left  her  father  with  Ottley  and 
ventured  near  her.  She  was  beside  the  door  of  the  little  conserva 
tory. 

"  Shall  we  go  in  ?  The  air  is  sweet  as  that  of  a  harvest-field  in 
there,"  said  Broderip,  timidly. 

So  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  narrow,  dim  recess,  with  its 
shelving  roof,  the  wintry  night  sky  overhead,  the  beds  of  common 
flowers  and  vernal  grass  which  his  odd,  simple  taste  had  gathered, 
about  them,  the  door  framing  as  a  picture  the  light  and  luxury 
within.  The  music  had  sunk  to  a  low,  intermittent  sobbing,  the 
unrest  of  some  unhopeful  pain.  One  could  find  in  it  the  baffled 
moan  of  the  sea,  or  the  cry  of  an  unloved  woman.  The  man 
shivered  before  it  like  a  reed  in  a  cold  wind. 

Miss   Conrad    looked    at   the   little   figure  beside  her,   at    the 
sallow,  insignificant   mask  of   a  face.      Something  which  looked 
v.     out  through  it  made  her  draw  back  with  an  undefined  alarm.     It 
was  a  power  which  she  had  seen  beneath  no  other  man's  eyes. 

He  turned  with  quick  suspicion.  "Why  do  you  avoid  me,  Miss 
Conrad?  I  was  not  repulsive  to  you  when  you  first  knew  me. 
Why  do  you  fly  from  me  ?  " 

There  was  an  involuntary  movement,  like  a  shiver  of  repugnance, 
through  her  slow,  firm  limbs,  but  she  said,  steadily, 

"  I  was  not  conscious  of  it.     Do  I  avoid  you  ?  " 

"  Is  it  from  instinct  ?  "  The  surgeon  passed  his  handkerchief  over 
his  forehead  once  or  twice. 

"  If  I  could  tell  you  why,  would  it  be  best  to  do  it  ?  "  knitting 
her  black  brows  thoughtfully,  and  looking  at  him  with  her  honest 
eyes — eyes  as  honest  and  controlled  as  a  Newfoundland  dog's. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  best,"  gravely.     "  I  have  a  reason.     Do  not 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  125 

fear  that  you  will  hurt  me,  either,"  smiling.  "I  am  a  callous  man 
by  nature,  and  I  am  no  longer  young,  as  you  see."  But  he  laid  one 
hand  over  his  chest,  and  shrank  back  into  himself  as  he  said  it,  un 
consciously. 

"  I  owe  you  such  gratitude — "  remorsefully. 

"  I  levy  no  taxes  of  gratitude,"  with  a  fierce  rasp  in  his  tone. 
"  People  will  tell  you  that  only  hard  cash  will  glut  my  greed  with 
my  patients.  But  from  you — it  was  scarcely  gratitude  that  I  de 
sired  from  you,  Miss  Conrad  ; "  the  voice  was  growing  sickly  and 
shrill  as  that  of  one  of  his  patients  asking  for  draughts  to  quench 
thirst. 

Miss  Conrad  still  stood  dumb  ;  she  was  no  more  used  to  analyze 
her  own  emotions,  than  when  she  was  a  sober,  wide-eyed  baby  on  her 
father's  knee ;  but  she  usually  had  found  no  difficulty  in  either 
putting  a  proper  price-value  on  her  companions,  or  in  telling  them 
what  it  was.  But  she  shrank  from  plain  words  with  this  man  as  if 
it  were  her  own  heart  she  was  going  to  sting  and  rudely  chafe.  In 
one  sense  he  seemed  so  feeble  to  her,  in  another,  so  strong. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  that  will  hurt  you,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  But  I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  I  am  a  half-educated,  blunt  girl, 
used  to  plain,  blunt  people ;  you  have  excited,  puzzled,  wearied 
me.  I  do  not  choose  to  suffer  pain." 

Red  heats  crept  out  through  the  colorless  flesh  of  his  face  and 
throat.  "  That  is  all  ? "  with  a  quick  smile.  "  You  will  learn  to 
hate  me  then,  because  I  am  a  stranger  ?  Now,  when  we  first  met, 
Miss  Conrad,  I  could  have  sworn  that  we  had  been  friends  long  ago, 
in  some  country,  of  our  own,  from  which  we  came,  and  to  which 
we  would  return.  There  was  not  a  trick  of  your  manner,  or  a  feature 
of  you  in  mind  or  body  with  which  I  did  not  feel  myself  familiar, 
which  was  not  dear  to  me — as  a  friend.  I  cannot  conceive  a  time —  " 
slowly,  and  writing  with  his  forefinger  in  the  beds  of  soft  mould, 
"  I  cannot  conceive  a  time,  past  or  to  come,  when  you  were  not,  and 
will  not  be  to  me  all  that  you  are  now." 

She  shrugged  her  broad,  white  shoulders.  "  It  has  not  been  so 
with  me.  You  have  humbled  and  pained  me.  I  am  not  used,  wil 
lingly,  to  bear  pain." 

Broderip  was  silent.  For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  him  that 
if  she  ever  loved  him,  his  fate  would  be  hers.  His  own  losses  he 
could  bear,  but  hers,  when  the  trial  came  to  her — what  then  ? 

"  I  never  meant  that  you  should  suffer  through  me.  I  resolved 
again  and  again  in  these  first  days  when  I  knew  you,  that  your  life 
should  never  know  contact  with  mine." 

She  drew  suddenly  back,  shaken  as  never  in  her  life  before ;  one 
would  have  thought  that  the  blood  had  been  struck  back  to  her 
heart  with  one  fierce  blow  of  disappointment.  She  put  her  hand  to 
her  forehead  with  an  effort  for  breath. 


120  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  wish  the  day  when  I  knew  you,  never  had  been  !  You  have 
hurt  me." 

He  stooped  forward,  then  drew  back,  controlling  himself.  "  Ho\v 
did  I  hurt  you  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  made  a  womanish  attempt  at 
concealment,  and  affecting  a  commonplace  tone,  said : 

"You  brought  a  strange  world  before  me,  Doctor  Broderip; 
you  made  me  feel  all  that  I  might  have  been,  but  am  not.  You 
differ  from  us ;  from  me  and  my  people  ;  the  difference  amuses  and 
rouses  my  father,  but  it  has  filled  me  with  unrest  and  discontent." 

"  This  does  not  seem  to  me  like  hate  ? "  said  Broderip.  He 
thought  he  spoke  aloud,  but  no  sound  passed  his  thin,  dry  lips. 
His  fingers  buried  in  the  grass  beside  him,  tore  at  it,  bringing  up  a 
handful  of  leaves  of  musk-plant  and  gilly-flowers,  turning  the  air  into 
a  spicy,  aromatic  breath.  Pie  went  from  her,  unsteadily,  letting  them 
drop  from  his  relaxed  hands,  his  face  grave1,  but  his  little  frame 
trembling  with  pleasure ;  he  put  his  hands  over  his  eyes  looking 
out  into  the  clear  night,  saying  to  himself,  that  this  did  not  look 
like  hate ;  that  every  man  had  a  right  to  the  love  of  wife  and  child, 
and  that  his  right  was  coming — coming.  Looking  out  and  up  as  if 
in  the  simplicity  and  height  of  his  joy  he  were  telling  God  of  it. 

Was  this  Margaret  that  waited  for  him?  She  herself  felt, 
with  a  helpless  impatience,  that  some  prop — self-reliance,  common 
sense,  perhaps — had  been  taken  from  her,  and  she  had  sunk  down, 
weak  and  pitiable ;  yet  the  change  was  nothing  to  a  casual  eye. 
The  solid  white  limbs  had  drooped  into  an  appealing  grace,  a  faint 
color  softened  the  thick,  wax-like  skin,  her  gray  eyes,  moist  and 
brilliant,  followed  him  with  a  half  angry,  half  frightened  look.  The 
light  touched  dimly  the  heavy  folds  of  her  dress,  and  the  scarlet 
bands  through  the  crown  of  lustreless  black  hair.  For  the  first 
time,  the  power  of  her  peculiar  and  great  beauty  forced  itself 
upon  him ;  for  men  needed  to  be,  in  a  measure,  en  rapport  with  her 
to  perceive  it,  and  then  acknowledged  it  reluctantly,  so  contrary 
was  it  to  the  ordinary  types. 

But  the  surgeon  was  in  no  mood  to  criticise  the  change.  It  was 
there,  and  it  was  no  instinct  of  aversion  to  him  that  had  caused  it. 

Coining  back  to  her,  he  began  to  talk  to  her  of  the  music  and  the 
plants ;  he  was  as  usual  controlled  and  quiet,  but  it  was  the  control 
of  a  thorough  content  with  himself  and  her,  and  with  the  relation 
between  them.  She  saw,  and  thought  it  weak  and  boyish,  but  she 
cowered  before  it.  He  drew  out  of  his  pocket  at  last  the  string  of 
rose-colored  sea  shells  which  he  had  found,  and  she  had  afterward 
given  to  him,  letting  them  fall  over  his  fingers  to  catch  the  uncer 
tain  light. 

"Do  you  notice  the  color?"  he  said.  "It  is  but  the  first  blush 
of  life,  the  tint  of  the  dawn,  or  a  scentless  bud,  meagre  and  chilly 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  127 

Yet,  sometimes  I  leave  them  on  the  table  by  my  pillow,  and,  when 
I  waken,  the  morning  light  draw-s  a  curious  glow  from  them.  Shall 
I  tell  you  the  picture  which  my  second  sight  reads  in  it  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  moved  as  if  she  would  have  passed  him,  then 
sank  back  again  against  the  wall. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  what  that  future  is  which  I  see  there.  No  other 
human  being  shall  ever  hear  the  story  if  you  will  not.  Let  me  tell 
you." 

She  looked  at  him ;  his  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  held  her  motion 
less.  The  story  forced  itself  through  them  without  words. 

Margaret  lifted  her  hand  before  her  face.  "  Not  now,"  she 
whispered.  "  I'm  not  as  reasonable  a  woman  as  I  thought  I  was ; 
I  do  not  know  what  this  is  that  is  coming  to  me.  Let  me  go.  This 
heat,  this  music  stifles  me." 

He  started  forward,  hiding  his  own  balked  sense  of  disappoint- 
merit.  But  she  was  so  helpless,  he  thought,  so  pure,  this  calm,  self 
reliant  girl ;  as  innocent  as  in  the  days  of  her  childhood,  not  knowing 
what  it  was  that  was  coming  to  her  lonely  maiden  heart.  She  was 
different  from  these  stale  and  gaudy  young  women  about  them,  who 
had  chattered  of  lovers  and  marriage  from  their  cradles.  He  was  very 
careful  with  her,  very  tender,  and,  seeing  how  pale  and  haggard  her 
face  appeared  out  in  the  light,  did  not  even  ask  her  if  she  would  hear 
the  story  another  day.  He  would  not  frighten  her ;  he  could  wait ; 
he  was  used  to  waiting. 

But  when  he  had  left  her  with  her  father,  he  made  a  pretext  to 
go  out,  and  hurrying  to  his  own  room,  thrust  his  burning  head  out 
of  the  window  into  the  cool  night  wind,  stroking  back  the  thin 
black  hair  from  his  low,  heavily  marked  forehead.  It  was  no  boy 
ish  glow  of  pleasure,  nor  even  the  gratified  hope  of  a  lover ;  it  was 
a  man's  delirium  of  triumph.  "  It  is  the  birthright  of  men,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  mine — mine."  Tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  rolled  down 
over  his  thin  jaws.  Presently  he  went  to  the  fire,  near  which  stood 
a  delicate  little  table  of  Florentine  mosaic,  and  beside  it  a  dainty 
easy-chair  which  evidently  had  never  been  occupied.  Broderip 
touched  the  spring  of  a  secret  dra\ver,  and  drew  out  of  it  scissors, 
thimble,  all  the  fanciful  little  implements  for  a  woman's  sewing : 
even  some  half-finished  bits  of  embroidery  which  he  had  stolen 
once  from  Margaret's  basket.  It  was  a  boyish  thing  to  do,  and  he 
turned  them  over  with  a  weak  smile.  He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
mantle-shelf,  looking  down  at  the  empty  chair.  Many  a  time  had 
he  stood  there  before,  thinking  that  the  light  actually  fell  on  her 
smooth  folded  hair,  and  that  the  skirt  of  her  dress  touched  hia 
foot. 

"  If  she  ever  should  come  now,"  he  thought,  anxiously,  "  she 
might  not  be  pleased  that  I  had  tried  to  counterfeit  her  presence 
through  these  things.  Some  day  I'll  burn  them." 


128 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 


Then  he  hid  them  again,  and  went  down  to  his  guests  with  a 
still  brightness  in  his  face  which  made  Ottley  turn  more  than  once 
to  observe  him.  He  went  from  one  to  the  other,  seeking  out,  and 
talking  with  a  peculiar  gentleness  to  the  few  who  were  neglected, 
according  to  his  custom,  but  he  hardly  saw  or  heard  them.  The 
rooms  seemed  vacant  to  him,  except  for  the  figures  of  the  wife  and 
children  who  were  coming.  But  he  kept  the  little  orphan  boy,  Phil, 
near  him  all  the  evening  after  this,  and  treated  him  with  a  strange 
tenderness  as  if  the  child  had  almost  suffered  wrong.  "  Phil  shall 
have  his  chance,"  he  said,  softly.  "Phil  shall  have  his  chance." 

CHAPTER  XV. 

IN    THE    ENCHANTED    LAND. 

OSSLYN"  was  grave  and 
zealous  before  the  mirror 
in  the  dressing-room  that 
evening,  quite  uncon 
scious  of  her  vanity,  or 
of  Friend  Blanchard's 
amusement  as  she  waited 
for  her  by  the  fire.  The 
old  Quaker's  carnal  na 
ture  had  rebelled  .against 
her  own  brown  and  gray 
clothes  all  her  life,  and  it 
took  a  vicious  delight, 
now,  in  Ross'  fresh,  high- 
tinted  beauty  and  dress. 
She  noticed  that  Ross- 
lyn  had  become  oddly  en 
rapport  with  herself  late 
ly.  She  had  grown  sud 
denly  conscious  of  her 
own  failings;  had  bitterly 
accused  herself  of  being 
useless  and  ungrateful  in 
her  letters  to  her  grandfather,  as  Friend  Blanchard  found  from  his 
misspelled,  anxious  replies  ;  tAvo  or  three  times,  too,  she  had  found 
her  in  her  room  crying  over  the  pages  of  her  little  Bible ;  then 
again  she  would  be  filled  with  acute  vanity  from  crown  to  foot,  as  to 
night  when  she  had  persisted  in  undoing  the  coiffeur's  work, 
because,  she  said,  the  gold  dust  he  had  sifted  through  her  hair, 
killed  its  lustre.  She  stood  now,  threading  her  fingers  through  its 
delicate  rings  of  gold  which  fell  about  her  throat,  and  caressing  the 
small  cleft  chin,  the  blue-veined  forehead  and  cheek  all  dewy  fresh 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VEUDICT.  129 

and  faintly  tinged  as  a  baby's,  with  a  look  of  as  keen  pleasure  as  if 
she  had  been  a  passionate  lover  of  herself. 

"  Now,  that  is  all  class-pride  in  Ross ; "  thought  the  old  lady 
excusingly.  "  It  pleases  her  to  think  that  no  good  thing  is  denied 
to  her  order,  although  it  is  so  low  as  to  be  out  of  sight  of  these 
people." 

Whereas,  Ross'  idle  brain  was  concerning  itself  with  no  problems 
of  caste,  but  wondering  how  many  of  the  richly  dressed  women 
about  her  had  married  for  love ;  hoping,  believing,  that  they  had 
done  so,  but  thinking  that  the  women  who  had  been  chosen  by  the 
masters  among  men  had  not  always  been  the  fairest  or  noblest ; 
following  a  train  of  hazy  fancies  in  which  Ruth  among  "the  alien 
corn,"  and  the  nut-brown  maid,  and  Maud.Muller's  tattered  gown 
had  place ;  thinking,  too,  how  the  chosen  maiden  had  always  been 
purified  and  adorned  before  the  king  came  to  set  the  crown  upon 
her,  from  Cinderella  to  Esther.  "  With  oil  of  myrrh  and  sweet 
odors,"  she  said,  as  she  looked  down  at  the  wavy  folds  of  her  new 
blue  dress,  delighted  with  the  pearly  sheen  on  it ;  and  hung  the 
white  lilies  in  her  hair,  which  it  had  taken  a  Aveek's  earnings  to  buy. 

Mrs.  Ottley,  in  pink  and  pearls,  swept  up  to  Friend  Blanchard. 
"  So  charmed  to  find  Miss  Burley  here  !  "  she  whispered  with  the 
anxious,  honeyed  affability  which  she  always  had  ready  to  screen 
the  stern  face  of  society  from  the  young  person ;  as  who  should  say 
to  that  Rhadamanthus :  "What  though  she  designed  a  chamber 
wall-paper  to  pay  her  last  week's  butcher's  bill ;  yea,  took  the  wages 
in  her  hand,  and  paid  it:  What  though  she  came  up  out  of  regions 
unknown  in  your  geography,  yet  pass  her  by,  uncondemned :  or  let 
mercy  temper  justice !  " 

"  She  is  becoming  quite  one  of  us,"  she  buzzed  confidentially  to 
the  Quakeress,  who  watched  her  as  a  grim  dog  might  a  fly  which 
he  was  too  lazy  to  brush  away.  "  Mr.  Ottley  says  her  beauty  is  a 
positive  luxury  for  his  eyes;  a  leetle  slow  and  dull,  the  dear  girl, 
may  be ;  but  then  our  girls  now-a-days  are  so  bookish,  and  musical, 
and  gay»j  that  it  is  quite  a  relief  to  find  one  who  drags  a  little  in 
conversation.  If  you  could  impart  to  her  the  slightest  flavor  of 
manner,  now,  dear  Mrs.  Blanchard.  The  merest  soupyon — that 
indefinable  some — thing,"  with  an  airy  flutter  of  her  fingers.  "  It 
marks  the  lady,  you  know.  But,"  with  a  sigh,  "nascitur,  non  fit, 
as  my  husband  says.  Poor  thing  !  She  is  so  good-humored,  with 
her  deficiencies ! " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  girl  with  the  golden  hair?"  said  Mrs.  Wells, 
one  of  two  young  married  ladies  who  were  discussing  croup  in  a 
corner.  "  She  always  seems  to  me  healthy  and  happy  all  over ;  as 
if  she  had  just  had  a  good  laugh,  and  felt  the  better  for  it." 

"  Rosslyn  is  dear  Mrs.  Blanchard's  child,"  interjected  Mrs.  Ottley, 
smiling  down  on  them.     "  By  the  way,  I  heard  it  was  your  inten- 
9 


130  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

tion  to  adopt  her  ?  "  with  a  sly  look.  "  Society  has  been  beforehand 
with  you,  I  fear." 

"  Society  seems  to  have  made  an  asylum  of  itself,"  was  growled 
from  the  other  corner.  There  was  a  nutter  and  silence  as  this  shell 
fell.  The  Quakeress  rose,  and  going  gently  over  to  Ross,  made  a 
low  buzz  of  talk  about  her  to  fend  off  any  chance  shots. 

It  was  Mrs.  Van  Fitter  that  had  spoken.  There  was  no  defence 
against  Mrs.  Van  Fitter. 

Friend  Blanchard  was  invincible  in  the  endless  struggles  of  social 
life.  She  had  a  weapon  for  every  antagonist;  if  the  wit  lanced 
was  keen,  hers  was  keener.  She  had  a  reasonable  life,  common 
sense,  and  refinement,  to  oppose  to  their  like.  She  had  a  shield  of 
indifference  and  good-humor,  on  which  to  catch  the  stings  of  Mrs. 
Ottley  and  her  genus ;  but  when  she  approached  the  leather-skinned 
mass  of  flesh  robed  in  velvet,  which  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire, 
she  laid  down  her  arms,  and  surrendered  at  discretion. 

"  Would  javelin  or  battering  ram  affect  a  mud  wall?"  she  used 
to  ask,  smarting  under  her  defeat.  She  stood  by  Ross,  now  an 
angry  blush  at  the  remembrance  coming  to  her  hollow  cheeks.  It 
was  Caesar  drowning  in  the  muddy  puddle  of  the  Tiber. 

But  it  was  not  her  nerveless  stolidity  which  formed  Mrs.  Van 
Fitter's  stronghold — in  that  there  was  danger  of  competition. 

The  Van  Fitters  were  old.  The  English  tourist  who  lately  dis 
covered  that  we  were  a  new  nation,  and  gave  the  proofs  in  his 
book,  had  not  met  with  this  family.  Kortright  Van  Fitter  was 
one  of  the  first  Swedish  settlers  in  Philadelphia.  They  could  prove 
that  he  settled  in  Wicaco  thirty  years  before  the  ancestry  of  any 
other  city  family.  From  that  time  until  the  present  they  had  held 
residence  in  Philadelphia.  The  house  in  which  Kortright  Van 
Fitter  had  lived  was  still  standing;  it  was  a  junk  shop  in  Front 
Street,  in  Southwark. 

These  were  facts ;  on  these  you  could  base  a  legitimate  aristoc 
racy.  You  could  not  deny  that  in  view  of  them  Penn  and  his 
followers,  and  all  succeeding  hordes  of  newer-comers,  were  intruders, 
and  people  of  yesterday.  They  might  possess  wealth,  culture,  piety 
and  genius,  but  these  were  doubtful,  transitory  things ;  at  the  best, 
here  with  one  generation  and  gone  the  next.  But  that  Kortright 
Van  Fitter  had  been  the  oldest  settler  in  Philadelphia,  that  the 
family  had  never  left  it — these  were  stubborn  facts ;  a  birthright  of 
distinction,  impregnable,  and  immutable,  which  you  could  not  away 
with,  any  more  than  you  could  deny  the  junk  shop  facing  the 
Delaware. 

Mrs.  Van  Fitter  (by  blood  and  name,  the  family  intermarried,  by 
rule),  was  a  ponderous,  yellow  wooden  tower.  If  there  ever  had 
been  joints  in  it,  the  uncompromising  dignity  of  the  race  had  affected 
them,  for  they  were  seldom  manifest.  When  she  spoke  to  you,  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  131 

whole  structure,  with  its  hangings,  the  color  of  faded  moss,  the  head 
turret,  with  its  hawk-like  projections,  its  watery  eye-windows, 
its  icicles  of  diamonds  dangling  from  the  sides,  turned  on  you  as  on 
a  pivot,  and  faced  you  with  the  two  centuries  of  the  Van  Fitter 
residence  looking  through  it.  The  Radical  must  have  been  strong 
in  his  integrity  who  would  meet  that  ghost  as  man  to  man,  and  not 
quail  before  it. 

Mrs.  Van  Fitter  lived  alone  with  it,  in  a  wide  rambling  old  house 
in  Pine  Street,  the  second  landmark  of  the  family.  It  was  built  of 
English  brick,  facing  the  street  with  dogged  boldness ;  with  no 
clinging  green  and  crimson  ivy,  or  grape-like  clusters  of  purple 
Wistaria,  such  as  softened  the  old  age  of  its  neighbors  with  a  hint 
of  to-day :  even  when  the  moss  had  tried  to  vail  its  unflinching 
ugliness,  the  old  woman  had  ordered  that  it  should  be  scrubbed  off 
weekly.  She  abode  there  as  on  a  rock,  while  the  waves  of  new 
comers  ebbed  and  flowed  about  it. 

Inside,  there  were  two  or  three  pieces  of  rare  china,  a  set  of  plate 
encrusted  with  the  family  crest,  tattered  carpets,  faded  old  bro 
cades  ;  there  were  wine  stains  on  the  cellar- way,  relics  of  the  dinners 
of  the  Van  Fitter  magnates,  a  century  ago ;  there  was  a  rickety 
suite  of  inlaid  ivory  and  gilt  chamber  furniture,  with  ragged  blue 
drapery,  which  was  reported  to  have  belonged  to  Marie  Antoinette. 
There  were  portraits,  too,  of  half-a-dozen  wooden-tower  bodied 
men  (they  had  not  cared  to  preserve  their  women)  ;  men  with  long 
upper  lips,  and  sagging  chins,  and  black  hair  growing  down  over 
lack-lustre  eyes.  Nature,  it  seemed,  had  not  often  taken  the  lib 
erty  to  bring  any  fantastic  fairy  gifts  of  beauty  or  wit  with  her  to 
the  silver-mounted  cradle  in  the  second  story,  in  which  the  Van 
Fitter  babies  had  looked  wide-awake,  with  their  beady,  black  eyes 
through  life,  and  found  no  mystery  in  it ;  while  Irish  Nora's  urchin 
in  the  garret  smiled  in  its  sleep,  dreaming  of  the  years  to  come. 

John,  the  only  son,  was  now  in  Paris;  he  had  married  the 
daughter  of  a  Market  Street  grocer ;  "  being  young,"  his  mother 
said,  and  "  the  girl,  doubtless,  a  scheming,  indelicate  person."  He 
kept  her  au  quatribne  in  a  shabby  quartier,  and  with  his  black-a- 
vised  face  and  mastiff  jaw,  was  nagging  the  poor  little  thing  into 
her  grave,  while  he  sauntered  from  salon  to  salon,  too  dull  to  talk, 
and  too  miserly  to  gamble.  Meantime  the  old  woman  decked  her 
self  in  her  diamonds  and  dingy  moss-colored  velvet,  darned  her 
caps,  and  starved  herself  and  her  servants,  in  order  that  she  might 
send  him  the  meagre  rents  untouched. 

People  who  had  no  antiquity  of  their  own  brought  in  hers,  with 
the  cobwebs  about  the  port  bottles,  to  give  authority  to  their 
entertainments. 

Now  the  old  woman  was  not  ill-tempered,  but  she  had,  as  became 
her,  a  keen  scent  for  plebeian  blood,  and  she  had  been  upon  Ross' 


132  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

trail  during  the  Winter.  To-night,  seeing  her  here,  and  apparently 
enjoying  her  own  beauty  to  the  full,  she,  in  the  language  of  the 
chase,  "  gave  tongue ; "  in  a  low-trained  voice,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was 
a  hound's  "tongue"  no  less,  and  summoned  Tray,  Blanche  and 
Sweetheart  to  fall  upon  the  prey  and  worry  it. 

They  did  not  join  her;  the  other  women  secretly  liked  Miss  Bur- 
ley  and  her  o*dd  little  house,  and  simple,  well-cooked  suppers  to 
which  she  and  Friend  Blanchard  gave  them  such  hearty  welcome ; 
besides,  the  little  artist  was  too  small  game,  any  one  could  see,  for 
the  Van  Fitter  blood  and  diamonds ;  they  gathered  in  front  of  the 
fire,  therefore,  to  keep  from  Ross  the  chatter  about  "  the  asylum 
which  society  had  become,"  and  "  the  highways  and  byways  from 
which  its  inmates  were  gathered,"  and  how  that  she  "  was  jostled 
daily  by  those  merchants  with  wholesale  shops  who  ruled  us  now ; 
we  would  soon  find  tradeswomen  and  shop-girls  in  our  assemblies." 

Ross,  deaf  arid  dumb,  meanwhile,  was  pulling  some  bits  of  helio 
trope  anxiously  from  her  bouquet,  remembering  that  Mr.  Randolph 
had  called  it  once  a  rank-scented  weed ;  thinking  how  easy  it  would 
be,  if  she  had  a  friend,  to  serve  him  in  every  trifle,  to  humor  him 
in  even  such  little  whims  as  this ;  wondering  would  she  ever  have 
a  friend  ?  Once — ;  but  that  was  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Just  then  she  noticed  that  a  woman's  voice,  which  had  been 
sounding  through  the  buzz  monotonous  and  dull,  suddenly  rasped 
louder,  and  she  caught  one  or  two  alarmed  glances  toward  herself. 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  came  to  the  rescue.  "  Do  you  take  an  interest 
in  the  Sanitary  Commission,  Mrs.  Van  Fitter  ?  " 

But  the  diversion  was  unlucky.  "  None,  whatever.  The  war  is 
a  matter  with  which  our  family  have  no  concern,  Mrs.  Wells.  They 
never  have  voted,  not  endorsing  a  republican  form  of  government. 
They  have  always  left  politics  to  the  masses.  Mr.  John  Yan  Fitter 
has  been  in  Europe  since  the  beginning  of  the  war.  There  is  some 
thing  in  this  carnage  repulsive  to  a  refined  mind." 

"  Many  representatives  of  our  old  conservative  families  are  in 
Europe,"  said  Mrs.  Ottley. 

"  The  Southern  forces,  however,  are  made  up  of  their  best  blood, 
I  understand ;  they  are  a  race  of  chevaliers,  and  prepared  for  war 
by  their  duels  and  tournaments ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  there  are,  too, 
some  quite  respectable  families  represented  among  the  Federal 
officers.  But  it  is  surprising  that  they  are  willing  to  command  an 
army  of  mercenary  hirelings  who  have  gone  South  for  plunder  when 
work  failed  them  at  home." 

There  was  a  sudden,  startled  pause,  as  Ross  Burley  came  into  the 
circle  with  a  quick,  sweeping  step,  her  face  colorless,  her  eyes  burn 
ing  under  their  straight  lids.  "  My  grandfather  is  a  private  in  the 
Federal  army.  Did  you  say  plunder,  Madam?"  in  a  low,  quiet 
voice.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  absorb  the  atmosphere  of  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  133 

room,  and  to  stand  out,  clear-cut,  against  the  back-ground  of  com 
monplace  women  in  her  indignant  beauty. 

"  Who  is  your  grandfather  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Van  Fitter,  raising  her 
eye-glass ;  and,  with  the  words,  Ross,  who  had  been  half  blinded 
by  her  sudden  passion,  perceived  for  the  first  time  who  was  her 
intao'onist.  So  poor  and  pitiable  was  a  woman,  old  and  repulsive 
as  this  !  The  girl  flushed  with  a  guilty  sense  of  shame,  as  though 
she  had  trodden  on  some  of  God's  slighted  creatures.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  she,  herself  would  be  old  and  ugly  and  venomous ! 

She  stood  still  a  moment,  and  then,  coming  closer,  held  out  both 
lands,  half  soothing,  half  humbly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  the  color  coming  and  going  on  her  face  and  neck, 
"  I  did  not  see  that  it  was  an  aged  person  who  spoke  to  me.  '  Who 
is  my  grandfather  ? '  He  is  an  old  man  who  has  toiled  hard  all  his 
life ;  now,  when  he  might  have  rested,  he  has  given  up  the  few 
years  left,  to  liberate  men  whose  lot  has  been  harder  than  his  own. 
He  did  not  go  for  plunder.  But  I  am  afraid,  madam,  that  you  can 
not  understand,"  and  she  turned  gently  away. 

Somehow  she  had  struck  the  key-note;  the  room  was  filled  with 
the  sisters  and  wives  of  soldiers ;  but  she  did  not  see  their  friendly, 
approving  looks  as  she  hurried  over  to  where  her  gloves  lay,  and, 
taking  them  up,  went  into  a  side  room  to  drop  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  and  cry  in  her  old  passionate,  sobless  way.  Friend 
"Blanchard  took  her  hand  and  held  it,  without  speaking,  when  Ross 
\thispered,  "How  did  she  know  where  his  gray  head  was  lying  to 
night  ?  and  what  right  had  she  to  be  there,  thinking  of— of  other 
people  who  said  that  his  poverty  c  was  a  stain  which  would  never 
wash  away  ? '  No  doubt  they  all  thought  he  went  for  plunder  into 
their  State,"  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  To  all  of  which 
vague  outcry  Friend  Blanchard  gave  no  reply,  but  listened  with  a 
troubled,  shrewd  smile.  A  solid,  yellow  finger  covered  with  rings 
tapped  on  Ross'  hair  authoritatively,  a  pillar  of  velvet  rose  above 
her  eyes  when  she  dried  them  and  looked  up. 

"I  think,"  the  heavy  jaws  moving  unsteadily,  "I  think,  Miss 
Burley,  I  understand,  perhaps,  better  than  you  supposed.  We  read 
in  history  of  many  heroic  deeds  among — among  the  people.  At 
any  rate,  your  grandfather  has  a  good  little  girl.  I  wish  I  had  one 
that  loved  me  as  well,"  and  then,  with  an  approving  tap  or  two,  to 
which  Ross  replied  by  an  hysteric  smile,  having  no  breath  left,  the 
old  lady  moved  mountainously  down  the  Btairs. 

"There  is  something  in  it,  after  all,"  said  Friend  Blanchard, 
thinking  of  the  Van  Fitter  two-century  residence. 

"  Come  down,"  begged  Mrs.  Ottley,  patting  a  damp  towel  to 
Ross'  crimson  cheeks.  "  Only  consider  your  eyes,  my  dear !  There 
is  a  friend  of  mine  here,  too,  whom  I  wish  to  present  to  you ;  out 
of  the  land  of  duels  and  tournaments.  But  I  forgot,  he  knew  you." 


134  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  damp  towel  had  been  effective,  apparently ;  the  fiery  spot 
was  suddenly  gone ;  Ross  stood  up,  quite  cool  and  grave. 

She  went  down  with  Friend  Blanchard,  resolved,  as  she  descended 
the  stairs,  to  live  entirely  for  her  grandfather  in  this  world,  shutting 
out  all  Van  Fitters,  or  others  who  would  hold  him  in  contempt. 
She  resolved  it  again  and  more  vehemently  as  she  crossed  the  hall 
and  saw  a  tall,  athletic  figure  in  the  doorway,  with  a  mass  of  curly 
brown  hair. 

Other  women  had  devoted  their  lives  to  their  country  or  to  the 
heathen,  why  should  not  she  give  hers  to  the  old  man  who  'loved 
her?  It  was  not  worth  so  much,  her  life,  after  all ;  nobody  asked 
it  of  her ;  she  was  not  well-taught,  nor  quick,  nor  winning  as  other 
women. 

They  passed  down  the  long  room,  Ross'  brown,  friendly  eyes 
returning  smile  for  smile,  never  turning  to  the  doorway.  But  the 
figure  was  there,  immovable,  not  coming  a  step  closer,  she  saw 
that. 

She  was  not  attractive  as  these  other  women ;  they  were  sought 
and  won ;  they  did  not  deck  themselves  vainly  to  please  an  eye 
that  never  looked  at  them.  They  had  the  ten  talents ;  they  had  the 
many  cities  to  rule  over;  she  had  her  one  poor  little  gift — her 
beauty.  If  the  old  man  was  proud  of  it,  if  she  was  a  "  Sweetheart " 
to  him,  he  should  have  the  comfort  of  it  always.  He  never  should 
know  that  she  had  been  unfaithful  to  him.  She  would  give  her 
whole  life  to  him  in  this  world ;  saying  this  over  and  over  to  her 
self  with  a  dull,  desperate  feeling  that,  for  the  world  beyond,  it 
mattered  little. 

Here  were  the  zest  and  juices  of  life ;  here  were  the  sun  and  the 
wind,  and  the  vineyards  of  grapes  ready  for  gathering.  But  they 
were  not  for  her — not  for  her.  Beyond,  there  was  rest ;  but  she 
was  not  ready  for  rest,  she  had  just  begun  to  live  and  work. 
There  were  some  women  who  had  never  worked  nor  lived ;  who  had 
died  unloved. 

They  stopped  to  bow  and  smile  to  Broderip,  who  met  them,  and 
then  stood  aside  in  the  shadow  of  a  bay  window ;  her  heart  ached 
with  a  gnawing  pain  under  the  bunch  of  lilies  as  she  thought  of 
those  lonely  women.  She  was  not  one  of  them ;  she  had  the  old ' 
man  yonder  to  love  her.  And  yet  the  bitter  tears  rose  against  her 
hot  lids  as  if  she  had  been  one. 

These  fancies,  common  enough  to  most  young  girls,  were  novel 
to  Ross;  they  gave  her  proportionate  sharp  pain.  The  wailing 
music  became  the  outcry  of  her  solitary,  wasted  life ;  it  meant  to 
her  that  she  should  lay  it  down,  its  work  unfulfilled,  its  happiness 
untasted,  to  go  with  empty  hands  and  empty  heart  into  that  vague 
Beyond  where  husband  nor  child  should  ever  follow  her. 

But  a  woman's  life  is  made  up,  like  the  old  image  of  gold  and 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  135 

clay.  The  minute  which  begins  with  fierce  questionings  of  Fate, 
ends  probably  in  tying  a  child's -shoe,  or  in  the  necessity  of  singing 
a  patient  lullaby.  The  answer  is  given  to  her,  if  she  Jared  to 
read  it. 

So  Ross,  because  two  or  three  people  came  to  her  to  be  amused, 
found  her  forced  smile,  in  spite  of  herself,  growing  natural.  One 
of  them  was  a  bashful  boy  of  nineteen,  weighted  with  self-con 
sciousness  to  the  burdened  earth ;  and  she  took  him  in  charge  with 
a  motherly  pity;  to  be  sure,  she  felt  as  if  a  great  gulf  lay  between 
them ;  he  was  in  a  world  which  she  had  given  up.  Something  like 
a  ghost  coming  back  to  help  living  people. 

Mr.  Ottley,  fresh  and  all  alive,  came  up  to  her ;  the  very  touch 
of  his  chubby  little  hands  was  somehow  hearty  and  invigorating. 
Ross  and  he  had  always  been  allies ;  because,  principally,  they  were 
both  always  "  present "  to  the  moment,  .ready  for  whatever  it 
brought — whether  pathos,  music,  fun  or  a  good  supper. 

He  stood  inspecting  the  rooms  and  passers-by,  then  turned  on 
her,  pulling  the  fringes  of  his  moustache,  his  keeny  black  eyes  on 
her  face.  "What  is  it,  Miss  Rosslyn?  I  see  clouds  and  rain," 
gently. 

"I  think  I  have  been  in  a  bad  humor,"  with  a  frown  and  blush. 

"  That's  not  all ;  not  all,"  his  fingers  on  his  chin  thoughtfully. 
"  You've  been  turning  your  soul  inside  out  to  look  at  it ;  or  your  life. 
I'm  sorry — sorry.  I  thought  I  had  found  one  young  woman  wfyo 
was  satisfied  to  let  her  internal  economy  alone." 

Ross  smiled  uneasily. 

"  It  is  bad,  bad  !  This  is  it,  Miss  Burley,"  looking  at  her  with  a 
half  grave,  half  quizzical  face.  "  I'm  a  fatherly  old  fellow,  as  you 
know,  and  take  an  interest  in  the  young  girls  about  me.  But  they 
are  all  of  them  afflicted  in  a  way  which  keeps  them  abed  half  of 
the  time,  or  else  pining  and  hungry  for  something  they  have  not 
got :  love,  or  a  career.  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter :  genius, 
or  bad  livers  or  spines,  perhaps." 

"  And  I  had  neither  of  the  three,  you  mean  to  say  ?  " 

"  Precisely.  Now,  you  see  I  am  not  afraid  to  speak  truth  to  you. 
You're  a  healthy  girl.  The  very  enamel  of  your  teeth  is  unbroken, 
I  dare  say.  Morbid  longings  and  reveries  are  not  the  work  you 
were  made  for.  There's  no  diseased  overplus  in  your  brain  toward 
ideality  or  causality,  or  even  form  or  color." 

"  Neither  artist  nor  poet,  then  ?  "  laughed  Ross. 

"No.     Your  head  is  too  round." 

"  *  A  life  of  nothings,  nothing  worth,'  "  she  quoted,  with  a  little 
bitterness  under  the  jest. 

"  There  it  is  !  Little  girl,  let  your  fate  alone,"  earnestly.  "  That 
is  not  your  affair.  You  must  not  be  vexed  that  I  thought  you 
raited  for  everyday  work.  You  have  the  truest,  most  friendly  eyes 


136  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

I  ever  saw.  When  I  first  looked  at  them,  I  thought,  that  woman 
will  be  a  helper  in  the  world.  Perhaps  to  but  one  man,  perhaps  to 
many." 

They  both  stood  quiet  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I'm  not  a  church  member,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  bald  forehead. 
"  But  I  think  we  ought  not  to  be  impatient  to  find  our  place.  There 
is  One  who  '  knows  what  things  we  have  need  of.' " 

"  I  know,"  said  Ross,  under  her  breath.  There  had  not  been  a 
day  since  she  was  a  child  that  her  grandfathers  fancy  about  her 
had  not  grown  more  real  to  her.  He  said  it  often,  even  now,  "  The 
Good  Man  has  a  keer  of  Rossline."  The  words  had  had  their  effect 
in  making  her  what  she  was. 

•  "  Yes,  that  is  my  experience,  though  I'm  not  a  religious  man, 
Miss  Burley.  I  tell  you,"  after  a  pause,  "  if  women  knew  what 
their  power  was,  they  wouldn't  sigh  for  '  a  career.'  A  woman  falls 
in  love  with  a  man  as  he  might  be,  not  as  he  is,  and  if  she  marries 
'him,  she  can  make  him  that,  if  she  pleases.  That,  or  something 
meaner  than  he  was." 

Ross  was  silent.  Neither  of  them  looked  toward  Mrs.  Ottley's 
fluttering  pink  and  plumes. 

"  I  think  you  will  be  a  helpful  wife,  some  day,  Rosslyn,"  he  said. 
"And  then,  *  between  us,  be  Truth.'     That  is  a  good  rule  for  hus 
band  and  wife." 
| "  I  think  I  will  be  a  good  wife,  if  I  marry,"  said  Ross,  gravely. 

"  Here  is  that  young  Kentuckian  coming  this  way,"  he  said,  after 
a  while.  "  I'll  leave  him  to  you  ;  you  are  a  hospitable  little  soul." 
He  turned  to  meet  Randolph,  whispering  to  her  beforehand  "  not 
to  be  bored  if  he  did  prose  a  little.  He  was  a  thorough  good  fel 
low  at  bottom." 

He  went  away  a  moment  after,  thinking  that  the  young  man  had 

-seemed  dull  and  awkward,  even  boorish,  when  brought  into  contrast 

with   the  girl's  simple  grace ;   he  had  thought  him  even   courtly 

this  morning.     The  few  words  he  heard  of  their  conversation  were 

formal  and  insipid  enough. 

"Washer  cold  better?" 

"  He  had  been  amused  in  the  city  ?  Had  found  many  old  ac 
quaintances?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  never  had  been  so  solitary  or  so  friendless," 
and  then  an  embarrassed  pause. 

The  words  in  which  a  man  shows  to  his  God,  or  to  a  woman,  that 
he  loves,  are  weakest  and  coarsest  when  they  are  audible.  But 
what  was  Ottley  to  know  of  any  voiceless  language  between  the 
two  who  were  paying  lip  service  in  platitudes  to  each  other?  How 
could  he  know  that  Ross'  nerves  grew  tense  at  one  glance  which 
fell  on  her,  or  why  her  delicate  face  grew  colorless  as  at  a  stroke, 
and  the  irritable  nostril  dilated,  and  the  brown  eyes  turned  from 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  137 

side  to  side  as  a  deer  at  bay  ?  How  could  he  know  the  vague  ter 
ror  with  which  the  womanly  woman  put  back  and  deferred  the  love 
for  which  her  soul  was  famished  ?  It  was  akin  to  the  chill  and  fear 
with  which  a  new-born  infant  draws  its  first  breath  of  the  great 
world's  delicious  air.  How  could  any  man  know,  that,  under  all 
the  pain  and  ecstasy  of  that  first  knowledge  of  what  was  coming 
to  her,  there  was  an  uneasy  consciousness  of  her  eyes,  her  mouth, 
her  shrinking  person,  a  guilty  remembrance  that  her  hair  was  curly 
and  golden,  and  that  she  had  heard  Randolph  talk  of  somebody's 
locks  of  chestnut  brown. 

For  it  was  love  that  silently  spoke  to  her.  Randolph  threw  aside 
his  sham  of  friendship  with  disgust.  Having  dared  to  tell  himself 
that  he  loved  her,  why  should  not  she  know  it  ?  Yet,  having  faced 
it,  he  was  half  shocked  at  the  force  and  strength  of  the  feeling.  It 
was  the  sudden  leafage  and  blossoming  of  a  plant  which  had  rooted 
itself  unseen  into  unknown  depths  of  his  nature. 

It  gave  utterance  to  his  manhood;  there  was  no  thought  or 
hope  which  he  had  known,  no  day  of  the  past  or  the  future,  which 
did  not  find  in  it  expression. 

Boys  worship  an  ideal  angel ;  but  a  man  at  Randolph's  age  loves 
the  woman  whom  the  exigencies  of  his  peculiar  adult  nature  crave ; 
the  woman  whose  features,  while  yet  unseen,  his  need  of  her  has 
taught  him  to  limn  and  color.  Somewhere,  from  the  foundation  of 
the  world,  she  has  been  set  apart  for  him. 

He  loved  her ;  but  he  would  not  tell  her  so  to-night ;  he  delayed 
the  exquisite,  tender  rapture  which  the  future  brought  to  him ;  he 
would  inhale  of  the  perfume  of  the  bud  before  the  flower  opened ; 
he  would  stand  with  his  hand  upon  the  gate,  before  he  ventured  in. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  flower  might  prove  a  weed  after 
all,  or  that  inside  of  the  gate  of  the  future,  there  might  lie  muddier 
paths  and  frozen  fields,  instead  of  the  hills  of  Beulah  whereon  the 
winds  of  heaven  blew. 

He  said  not  a  word  to  her  of  love,  yet  he  was  jealous  to  know 
her  every  unspoken  thought ;  he  begrudged  every  glance  or  smile 
which  did  not  come  to  him,  like  a  bee  bringing  honey  to  its  home. 

As  to  the  ci-devant  little  market  girl,  if  she  forgot  that  long-ago 
herb-stall,  or  the  illiterate  wagoner  whose  basely-born  grandchild 
she  was — forgive  her ;  the  world  was  made  anew  for  her  that  night. 
She  was  so  happy  with  her  new  blue  dress  and  pure  lilies,  her 
delicate,  rare  face,  her  shimmering  golden  curls.  She  had  brought 
him  her  one  little  talent,  and  she  knew  he  thought  it  worth  a  king's 
ransom.  She  wished  she  could  show  him  what  lay  beneath  the 
tender  vail  of  beauty  and  of  flesh.  She  had  no  intellect,  nor  accom 
plishments,  perhaps;  but  she  would  be  so  loyal  and  helpful  a  friend, 
her  love  could  be  tender  and  fierce  beyond  that  of  women. 

So  they  sat  together,  or  walked  through  the  open,  almost  vacant 


138  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

rooms,  pausing  where  the  chilly,  Wintry  moonlight  threw  fantastic 
shadows  on  the  floor,  or  the  fires  made  pictures  of  home  about  the 
hearth,  talking  meaningless  words,  or  silent — her  nervous  fingers 
on  his  arm. 

It  was  the  spectral  moonlight  of  the  old  enchanted  castle  ;  it  was 
the  firelight  of  most  happy  homes ;  the  mellow  tones  of  the  carpets 
and  hangings  deepened  in  hue ;  the  friendly  faces  about  them  bade 
them  God  speed ;  the  music  was  laden  with  prophetic  voices  that 
called  to  them  aloud.  This  was  no  dwelling  in  solid  squares  of 
brick  and  marble;  it  was  the  country  where,  for  a  space,  they 
walked  together  in  singleness  of  heart ;  where  the  passion  and  pain 
of  their  lives  began  to  run  fiercely  through  their  blood,  where  old, 
silly  fancies  of  their  childhood  came  unbidden  to  talk  to  them  again, 
bringing  tears  to  their  eyes,  and  seemed  more  reasonable  to  them 
than  all  the  experience  or  knowledge  of  later  days. 

Well,  well !  we  all  know  the  old  story  of  Baucis  and  Philemon ; 
how  a  saint,  sent  by  the  good  God  to  help  the  children  of  men, 
began  with  this  poor  herdsman  and  his  wife ;  how,  after  his  fingers 
had  been  laid  on  their  eyes,  they  saw  that  their  hut  was  in  truth 
a  dim  and  lofty  temple ;  how  the  patch  of  brown  corn  stretched 
and  darkened,  into  a  forest,  where  the  winds  from  all  quarters  of  the 
world  cried  at  night,  and  all  birds  sang ;  how  their  coarse  rags 
turned  into  garments  of  grace,  betokening  worth  and  rank ;  and 
how  that,  on  their  callous,  hard  features,  there  began  to  dawn  for 
each  other  a  strange  and  notable  beauty. 

School-boys  will  tell  you  that  when  mortals  enter  the  enchanted 
land,  where  Rosslyn  and  Garrick  were  to-night,  they  are  led  there 
by  one  of  the  defunct  race  of  gods ;  one  in  whose  alleged  antics  we 
find  neither  reason,  humor,  nor  pathos  ;  he  is  usually  pictured  as  a 
blundering  blind  boy ;  Puck  without  Puck's  wit. 

But  we  who  have  travelled  out  of  foggy  youth  on  toward  noon, 
where  the  thoroughfares  are  crowded,  and  the  mysteries  which  meet 
us  are  more  real  and  darker  than  death :  we  can  testify  that  the  old 
story  of  the  herdsman  and  his  wife  is  true ;  that  we  have  seen  it 
repeated  in  a  thousand  of  these  commonplace  houses  about  us  ; 
have  seen  the  magic  touch  laid  on  the  eyes  of  selfish  old  men  and 
debased  young  ones ;  upon  the  hard-worked  mechanic  and  his  worn- 
out  wife,  struggling  with  many  children  and  a  small  income ;  upon* 
the  vain,  idle  girl ;  upon  the  Magdalen  herself;  and,  for  all,  the 
tedious  homes  widened  into  a  sudden  palace ;  the  coarse,  hackneyed 
world  grew  generous  and  pure ;  their  own  lives  became,  for  the 
time,  heroic  poems;  the  chance  came  to  them,  as  to  us  all,  as  to 
ROSB  and  her  lover,  to  be  forever  true,  humble,  chivalric.  So  we 
are  tempted  to  leave  the  witless  Cupid  to  the  school-boys,  and  to 
believe  that  the  saint  still  wanders  among  men  in  the  guise  of  an 
honest  human  love,  and  that  of  all  of  His  messengers  sent  to  bring 
us  home,  it  is  the  nearest  and  most  akin  to  its  Master. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  139 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

DISENCHANTED. 

ON  the  next  morning  Ross  was  astir  at  dawn ;  her  day's  work 
was  done  before  breakfast,  and  laid  aside ;  clean,  broad  sheets  of 
paper  in  her  desk  ;  it  seemed  to  her,  her  lingers  had  never  been  so 
firm  or  free,  and  that  the  wreaths  were  different  from  any  she  ever 
had  finished  before.  Everybody's  work  was  done  by  noon ;  she  was 
a  keen-eyed  mistress,  and  to-day  she  went  from  garret  to  cellar  like 
a  March  wind.  She  left  sunshine  and  quiet  behind  her,  to  be  sure ; 
the  warm,  damp  light  coming  in  gladly  at  the  open  windows,  found 
cosy,  bright  rooms,  cheaply  furnished,  but  spotless  from  dust,  with 
warm,  clear-tinted  hangings  which  toned  cheerfully  with  the  rich, 
reddish  browns  and  yellows  of  the  unpainted  wood-work,  and  the 
glittering  fire-irons.  There  were  pots,  in  which  grew  plants  with 
blue  and  lilac  blossoms,  and  the  gold  and  snuff-colored  wall  flowers ; 
there  were  dwarf  morning-glories  vining  over  the  window-panes 
and  opening  their  moist  cups,  of  rose  and  crimson,  shyly  at  dawn ; 
there  were  tables  drawn  up  by  the  fires,  covered  with  papers  and 
books  waiting  to  be  read,  and  rolls  of  Ross'  neatly-folded  sewing ; 
there  were  bits  of  landscape  on  the  walls,  like  windows,  through 
which  you  could  look  from  the  Jersey  farm-house,  into  a  windy 
Scotch  moor,  or  at  a  low  sea  rising  under  a  burning  sun  upon  the 
patient  beach,  or  at  the  afternoon  shadows  creeping  over  open, 
green  turf  cleft  through  a  thick  forest. 

Ross  was  restless ;  she  came  up  the  road  now,  holding  a  shaggy 
cloak  about  her  shoulders,  her  dress  tucked  up  from  her  Balmoral 
skirt,  jumping  from  stone  to  stone  in  the  icy  wagon-track  in 
preference  to  the  beaten,  safe  path  upon  the  bank;  stopping  at 
different  points  to  look  at  the  little  domain  to  see  how  it  would 
appear  to  a  stranger,  if  any  chanced  to  ride  that  way  to-day. 

Nearer  town,  the  road  was  lined  with  genteel  villas  and  Swiss 
cottages,  made  of  pine  boards ;  but  this  wa&  undisguisedly  a  farm 
house  ;  ground  was  plenty,  the  fields  about  it  had  a  loose,  lazy, 
liberal  way  of  falling  into  useless,  dark,  mysterious  little  jungles, 
from  which  Ross,  to  this  day,  had  an  uncertain  dread  of  bears ;  and 
knobbing  themselves  into  warts  of  rock,  which,  in  Summer,  were  a 
tangle  of  partridge-berries  and  maiden's  hair.  Then  there  was  a 
gully  filled  with  water,  in  which  fish  had  been  caught,  and  which  Ross 
called  Burley's  creek,  and  there  was  a  barn,  with  a  properly  red 
roof,  at  one  side,  and  an  apple  orchard,  with  logs  holding  up  the  old 
crooked  backs,  at  the  other,  and  walnut  and  mulberry  trees  all  out 
of  place  with  regard  to  the  landscape,  and  turkeys  down  by  the 
barn,  and,  on  sunny  days,  a  peacock  strutting  before  the  door.  The 
day  was  one  of  soft  coloring,  the  sky  filled  with  curdled  clouds, 


140  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

f 

wet  and  sunny,  like  the  scum  and  froth  of  Winter's  snow-storms. 
The  slopes  from  the  house  and  the  orchard  showed  a  pale  green 
through  the  brown,  powdered  with  white  frost.  The  old  house 
was  ruggeder  and  broader  than  when  we  saw  it  last,  and  had  taken 
aiore  ground  to  itself  in  its  old  age ;  but  it  had  put  on  the  colors 
of  the  ground  also,  and  stained  its  bluish-gray  stone  walls  with 
blackish  red  and  green,  and  lichens  hung  about  it,  quiet,  ragged, 
and  gray  as  an  old  man's  hair  and  beard. 

Ross  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand,  looking  over  the  fence,  her 
eyes  sparkling.  "  Would  he  like  it  ?  What  a  foolish  question  was 
that ! "  After  a  while  she  drew  a  long  sweet  breath,  as  if  she 
could  taste  her  happiness  in  it,  and  went  into  the  barn  to  talk  to 
John  about  the  heifer.  It  had  been  a  present  to  her  from  her 
grandfather  last  Christmas,  and  it  was  judged  to  be  three-quarters 
Alderney.  Now,  Ross  was  secretly  proud  of  it,  and  glad  to  have 
it  to  show  to  Mr.  Randolph,  who  doubtless  knew  all  about  fine 
cattle. 

John,  a  gray-headed  old  fellow,  with  a  face  the  color  of  his  favor 
ite  tobacco,  had  seen  her  going  to  the  barn,  and  hobbled  out  from 
the  kitchen  fire,  and  stood  now  by  the  stall,  rubbing  his  knees  with 
an  aggrieved  air  of  innocence,  watching  while  she  pulled  down 
some  clean  straw  for  Bessy's  bed,  and  hung  up  the  halters.  Five 
years  ago  John  had  run  away  (from  work,  Ross  suspected,  as 
much  as  his  master),  and  found  his  way  to  them.  She  kept  him, 
and  paid  him  wages. 

"  It  will  give  him  the  feeling  of  a  freeman,"  she  pleaded  with  her 
grandfather.  "Besides,  between  rheumatism  and  laziness  he'll 
surely  starve." 

"  Hev  yer  way,  sweetheart,"  Joe  laughed.  "  They're  a  bad  lot, 
in  my  'pinion.  I'm  willin  you  an  yer  Quaker  friends  should  use 
my  office  in  the  lumber-yard  to  bring  em  to,  poor  devils.  Every 
man's  a  right  to  his  liberty,  'cordin  to  me.  I'm  willin  to  help.  But 
when  they're  free,  I  don't  hanker  after  'em." 

Joe,  busy  with  his  lumber,  left  the  management  of  the  little  farm 
usually  to  Ross,  and  she  bore  the  burden  of  John  like  a  hero. 

To-day,  however,  she  had  a  reason  for  wishing  her  house  set  in 
order.  "The  stable  is  untidy,"  she  said  sharply,  "Uncle  John. 
Bessy's  bed  is  foul." 

"  Dat  am  a  fac,"  laconically  looking  down.  "  But  what  for  ye 
git  in  a  passion,  now,  Miss  Rossline  ?  What's  de  bed  of  de  beasts 
wurf  troublin'  'bout,  so  long's  yer  soul  am  still  in  savin'  reach  an' 
prayin'  ground  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I  wish  you  would  bring  out  Phil  to  clean 
here,  if  your  leg  pains  you." 

"  Ef  it  pains  ?  Dat's  jess  like  de  young  'uns,  dey've  got  no  feel- 
ins  !  But  I'd  be  willin'  to  overlook  all  yer  little  failins,  Miss  Ross- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  141 

line,  ef  I  thought  ye'd  got  de  pearl  ob  great  price.  Ef  ye'd  take  a 
week,  now,  an'  jess  detarmine  to  c&me  out  ob  it  wid  religion " 

John's  cloak  of  religion  was  always  ready  to  cover  the  dirty 
stable,  so  Ross  laughed.  "  I'll  send  you  out  some  Arnica  plaster," 
she  said. 

But  he  had  the  upper  hand  now,  and  was  keen-witted  enough  to 
know  how  to  torment  her;  went  to  work  groaning,  and  hofding  his 
back.  "  Folks  in  de  Norf  is  no  better  dan  slave-drivers,"  he  mum 
bled,  before  she  was  out  of  hearing.  "  What  'd  I  kum  hyur  fur, 
but  to  draw  one  comf 'ble  breif  of  freedom  before  I  died  ?  An'  its 
4  John  hyur ! '  an'  '  John  dar ! '  from  mornin'  till  night.  Down  in 
Virginny  I  was  among  ladies  and  gen' men,  anyhow."  And  as  soon 
as  Ross  was  out  of  sight,  hurried  in  to  tell  over  his  grievances  in 
the  kitchen,  and  his  hopes  "dat  de  day  was  near  to  hand  when 
de  cullored  folks  'ud  be  up,  and  de  white  folks  down,  bress  de 
Lord." 

Ross  went  away  with  the  red  spot  burning  her  cheek.  "  Some 
times  I  think  I'll  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  of  them,"  she  mut 
tered.  "  They  never  will  make  themselves  fit  for  freedom ;  never." 

But  the  disheartened  feeling  soon  vanished ;  she  had  no  time  to 
speculate  about  races,  or  the  maltreatment  which  their  minds,  more 
than  their  bodies,  had  suffered  in  slavery.  Once,  indeed,  she 
thought,  what  would  her  new  friend  think  of  the  helpless  little  cara 
van  about  her,  the  lame,  halt  and  blind,  yonder  in  the  kitchen. 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  he  thinks ! "  with  her  decisive  little 
nod.  The  world  was  so  full  of  need  and  pain,  and  it  was  such  a 
little  portion  of  it  her  hands  could  lift !  (though  when  it  came  to  the 
weekly  bills,  and  the  undone  work  left  for  her,  her  hands  found  it 
heavy  enough,  sometimes.) 

"He  will  see  it  as  I  do;  and  if  he  does  not,  no  matter;"  for 
Ross'  feet  were  as  firm  under  her  as  ever.  She  went  in  to  cut  the 
plaster  herself;  and  then  into  the  dining-room,  where  Matsy  was 
setting  out  the  lunch-table ;  a  little  wiry  bunch  of  bones  and  mus 
cles,  with  a  coifee-hued  skin  drawn  over  them.  The  old  woman 
moved  slowly  about,  as  sweet  and  clean  as  her  own  butter;  besides, 
she  had  turned  Quaker  lately,  having  fallen  heir  to  a  heap  of  Friend 
Blanchard's  clothes ;  a  thin  cap  was  set  over  the  short  wooly  fuzz, 
and  her  spectacles  on  top  of  that  again,  a  sheaf  of  goose  quills 
thrust  in  the  waist  of  her  drab  dress,  to  hold  her  knitting-needle. 
Ross  hesitated,  the  rose  creeping  from  her  cheek  over  her  forehead 
and  down  her  neck ;  then  she  brought  a  table-cloth,  which  she  kept 
laid  away,  and  smoothed  out  its  satiny  folds  herself  over  the  .little 
round  table,  talking  to  Matsy  meanwhile  about  John's  rheumatism. 

"  It's  only  natterin'  as  ails  him,  honey.  He's  got  too  much  white 
blood  in  him,  dat  ar  John  hes.  Dem  sort  ob  cullahed  folks  is  all 
fermentin'  now,  wantin'  dere  rights.  Dem's  extry  posies  yor  a 


142  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

cuttin'  for  de  table,  Miss  Rosslyn,  heh  ?  Talkin'  of  'malgamation, 
de  Lord  knows,  its  not  de  cullahed  folks  as  ought  to  insist  on  dat  ar. 
It's  on'y  de  meanest  sort  ob  white  blood  dat  comes  into  our  veins,  or 
eber  has.  It's  not  de  pineapple  preserbes  yere  gittin'  out,  honey?" 

Ross  put  down  the  glass  bowl  with  its  clouded  sirup  hastily. 
"  I  thought  a  friend  of  Friend  Blanchard's  might  be  here  before 
lunch,"  she  said,  and  went  restlessly  out,  while  Matsy  followed  her, 
with  a  keen  twinkle  of  her  eye.  "  She's  done  lost  herself,  Miss 
Rosslyn.  I'll  go  make  some  Virginny  biscuits.  Poor  little  gal ! 
I'll  hev  a  lunch  as  she'll  be  'proud  of,  ef  dat  dratted  flour  don't  run 
agin." 

Perhaps  after  all  he  might  not  come.  He  had  not  said  he  would. 
But  they  had  been  talking  another  language  than  words,  and  Ross 
had  but  little  doubt,  only  enough  to  send  the  hot  and  cold  shiver- 
ings  through  her  veins,  as  she  ran  up  the  stairs  to  her  own  little 
room,  where  her  clothes  lay  in  a  snowy  pile  upon  the  bed,  ready  for 
her  to  dress.  When  she  had  bathed,  and  began  to  put  them  on 
over  the  fresh  dewy-moist  flesh,  her  hair  clinging  in  damp  rings 
about  her  forehead,  and  the  impalpable,  clean  perfume  shaken  from 
their  folds  in  the  air,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  not  to-day's,  but  all  of 
her  life's  work  was  done,  and  she  was  making  ready  for  a  feast- 
day,  which  would  last  forever.  She  kept  a  watch  on  the  bit  of  road 
seen  through  the  walnut  trees ;  she  could  see  his  horse  there  before 
its  hoofs  were  heard. 

She  thought  over  and  over,  as  she  curled  her  hair,  and  fastened 
it  back  with  a  velvet  snood,  how  she  would  take  him  over  the  farm, 
and  show  him  all  her  old  camping  grounds,  when  she  was  little. 
What  a  wide  world  its  few  acres  were  to  her  then !  They  were 
half  the  world  to  the  home-body,  now.  It  never  occurred  to  her 
that  he  might  not  be  interested  in  it  at  all ;  nor  did  it  once  seem 
possible  to  her  now  that  the  story  of  her  birth,  or  of  the  stall 
in  the  market,  could  hurt  him.  She  thought  of  it,  and  then,  alone 
as  she  was,  a  vivid  blush  dyed  her  brow  and  neck  and  bosom,  she 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  with  a  sudden  tremble  in  her  lip  and 
light  in  her  eyes  that  said  "  Why,  he  loves  me ! "  as  she  would  not 
have  dared  to  put  it  into  words. 

Now  that  the  king  had  come  to  choose  her,  her  life  seemed  a 
beautiful,  innocent  romance — only  that  she  never  would  go  back  to 
the  ashes  like  Cinderella.  And  then  those  old  days  were  so  dear ! 
so  dear !  When  she  had  put  on  the  blue  dress,  with  its  black  vel 
vet  band  turned  back  from  her  throat  and  wrists,  and  a  frill  of  lace 
within,  she  hurried  down  and  out  past  the  barn  again,  with  a  con 
scious,  furtive  look  behind,  like  a  child  who  is  going  to  do  a  silly 
thing.  There  was  a  huge  shed  behind  the  clump  of  cedars.  She 
unlocked  the  door  and  went  in.  There  was  an  open  square  in  the 
wall,  the  shutter  of  which  was  thrown  back,  and  by  the  light  of  it 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  143 

she  could  see  the  old  Conestoga,  with  its  canvas  top,  yellow  from 
age,  and  the  red  body  woven  over  .with  spiders'  webs. 

Joe  had  refused  to  sell  it  again  and  again.  "  It's  worth  nothin' 
but  firewood  and  old  iron  to  you,"  he  said.  "  But  it  held  somethin 
in  it  that  wur  worth  more  nor  all  I've  got  now,  to  me.  Not "  he  said 
to  Rosslyn  afterward^  "that  you  ain't  as  dear  to  me  now  as  then, 
sweetheart,  an'  I'm  mighty  proud  of  ye.  But  that  little  yaller- 
haired  gal  as  used  to  sit  on  the  bags  at  my  feet  ther,  was  altogether 
mine." 

But  Ross,  with  the  new  life  coming  to  her,  clung  jealously  to  the 
old,  and  took  it  with  her ;  she  touched  the  old  wagon  softly  as  if 
she  and  her  grandfather  and  it  were  going  to  be  happy  together, 
and  stretching  up  to  the  great  arches  of  bells  hung  on  the  wall,  rang 
a  peal  on  them  that  filled  the  whole  Spring-like  day  with  the  voices 
of  her  childhood.  She  rang  them  again  and  again.  "  I'll  never 
hear  any  music  better  than  that,"  said  tuneless  Ross,  as  she  passed 
her  hand  tenderly  over  the  rusty  bells,  and  hung  them  more  securely. 
Then  she  went  out  slowly. 

" t  Is  this  music  i'  th'  earth  or  i'  th'  air  ?  ' " 

She  laughed,  and  blushed,  and  grew  pale,  and  then  shut  the  door 
and  turned  away  from  it.  The  stately  figure,  with  its  fur-lined 
overcoat,  the  fastidious  face  that  bent  to  hers,  admiring,  yet  super 
cilious,  jarred  somehow  with  the  dusty  old  wagon  and  its  bells,  and 
did  them  dishonor. 

They  went  side  by  side  into  the  house.  There  was  not  a  look  or 
word  which  did  not  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  Yet  she  was  quiet 
and  unsmiling,  as  though  a  gust  of  cold  rain  had  swept  through  her 
holiday  and  chilled  out  its  warmth  and  rose  color.  Whether  she 
spoke  or  was  silent,  Garrick,  however,  was  equally  content.  Under 
the  mask  of  punctilious  manner  and  dress,  there  was  a  lonely,  slow 
old  fellow,  very  tired  of  books  and  himself,  who  thought  he  had 
found  home  at  last. 

Friend  Blanchard  had  driven  to  town  early  in  the  morning;  so 
they  were  left  alone  during  the  long,  quiet  afternoon,  before  the 
great  wood-fire,  seated  in  two  easy-chairs. 

Sometimes  they  talked,  but  oftener  they  were  silent.  Fresh  logs 
burned,  the  ashes  fell  in  heaps  upon  the  hearth  ;  the  red  heat  grew 
powdered  over  with  gray.  Outside,  the  sky  clouded  and  cooled, 
and  the  snow  began  softly  to  fall ;  the  world  was  hushed  about 
them ;  its  quiet  lapped  Garrick  into  certainty  of  possession ;  he 
bade  fair,  in  fact,' to  be  dilatory  and  visionary  as  a  lover,  as  he  had 
been  in  all  the  other  chances  of  his  life. 

They  had  lunch — so  Ross  called  it.  To  him  it  was  as  a  meal 
which  Adam  and  Eve  ate  in  Paradise,  while  the  world  waited  for 
them  to  enter  into  possession.  Perhaps  he  was  not  conscious  of  the 
delicate  damask,  or  the  creamy  flakes  of  Matsy's  biscuit ;  but  if  ono 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT, 

had  been  coarse  or  the  other  sodden,  Eden  would  uoc  havo  been  so 
vivid  to  him. 

After  the  meal  was  over,  he  told  her  long  stories  of  which  he  was 
generally  the  hero;  not  offensively,  for  about  his  own  self, per  se, 
Randolph  was  reticent  and  morbidly  humble.  But  what  did  he 
know  of  the  world  outside  of  the  farm  in  Kentucky,  and  the  col 
lege,  and  his  adventures  there  ?  Besides,  he  had  a  simple-hearted, 
eager  desire  to  take  her  into  his  heart  of  hearts,  and  let  her  look 
out  from  there,  and  see  life  just  as  he  saw  it ;  how  else  were  they  to 
become  one  ?  Then,  his  home  and  inheritance  never  had  seemed  so 
important  or  dear  to  him  as  now,  when  he  meant  to  take  to  them  a 
mistress.  He  was  going  to  gain  a  diamond,  and  it  behooved  him 
to  find  for  it  a  proper  setting.  So  he  talked  to  her  of  the  house 
and  farm,  of  aunt  Laura,  of  all  the  Randolphs  and  Pages,  whose 
honorable  blood  had  culminated  in  his  own ;  prosing  on,  looking  in 
the  fire,  not  noticing  that  her  work  had  fallen  on  her  lap,  and  she 
had  grown  silent ;  that  the  face  looking  in  the  fire  had  become 
almost  haggard  in  the  last  half  hour,  the  blood  setting  in  dark 
circles  about  her  eyes  as  she  saw  the  gulf  between  them  widening — 
widening. 

What  could  she,  with  her  unclean  childhood,  ever  be  to  him  ? 
But  \vhat  was  she  to  do?  Plow  could  she  drag  it  out  before  him  ? 
He  held  her  at  a  vague  but  absolute  distance  of  respect  and  homage  ; 
he  invited  no  confidence,  said  no  word  that  implied  he  ever  desired 
to  be  nearer  to  her  than  now ;  she  could  not  force  herself  and  her 
history  upon  him.  If  he  ever  asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  she  would 
put  him  from  her,  and  give  no  reason.  She  hardened  down  into 
that  resolve ;  and  Ross  had  a  temper  a  good  deal  like  molten  steel — 
clear  and  liquid  as  water  until  it  found  its  mould,  and  afterward, 
never  to  be  bent  or  broken. 

Finally  he  came,  in  his  journey  through  the  family  annals,  to  the 
story  of  the  will,  which  had  become  a  festering  spot  in  his  own 
memory.  He  told  it  to  her  as  if  they  had  been  already  affianced, 
and  their  interests  were  one. 

"  The  whole  matter  is  the  more  galling  to  me,"  he  said,  "  as  the 
man  Strebling,  to  whom  the  property  was  said  to  be  left,  is  one  for 
whom  I  have,  above  all  others,  an  antipathy." 

"  James  Strebling  of  Alabama  ?  "  Miss  Burley  looked  toward 
the  window,  and  her  voice  was  husky  as  she  spoke. 

Randolph  turned,  surprised.  "  Yes ;  I  did  not  know  that  you 
knew  him." 

She  did  not  answer  at  once.  "  I  do  not  know  him.  I  should 
think  there  would  be  a  great  gulf  between  you  and  him,  or 
fou  and  his  children."  She  rose,  and  then  sat  down  again,  passing 
her  hand  once  or  twice  over  her  forehead,  uncertainly. 

"  Strebling  has  but  one  child — Bob,"  said  Randolph,  carelessly. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT  U5 

"  He's  a  weak,  coarse-grained  fellow,  like  his  father.  Tra  »ts  come 
down  in  that  way;  the  sins  of  the  fathers,  you  know.  The  air 
about  them  seems  always  impure  to  me,  though  I  have  no  reason 
for  such  a  fancy.  But  I  would  not  wish  my  sister  to  breathe  it, 
or — or  my  wife." 

The  blood  throbbed  painfully  back  to  his  heart  in  the  moment's 
silence  that  followed,  but  Rosslyn  sat  cold  and  motionless,  her 
hands  folded  on  her  knees,  her  aquiline  profile  cut  clearly  between 
him  and  the  gray  window  light.  For  the  first  time  he  saw  that  it 
had  curiously  hard  lines  in  it,  that  the  very  brown  eyes  which  had 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  softest,  tenderest  in  the  world,  to  hold  all 
a  wife's  and  mother's  passion  and  pain  latent  in  them,  had  a  flinty 
look  of  dull  endurance,  which  was  new  to  him.  It  did  not  alter 
when  she  turned  toward  him. 

"  What  have  you  done  in  this  matter  ?  "  she  said,  going  back  to 
the  will  with  forced  interest,  as  if  she  held  it  up  to  ward  off  any 
other  topic. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  as  yet,"  stroking  his  beard  thoughtfully 
"  It  was  Friend  Blanchard  who  first  told  me  the  story.  I've  been 
thinking  it  over.  'To  make  haste  slowly,'  that  is  my  motto.  To 
morrow  I  go  to  Washington  to  receive  my  appointment.  I  may  go 
from  there  to  Kentucky  for  a  few  days.  But  what  would  you  have 
me  do,  Miss  Burley  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell,"  passing  her  hands  one  over  the  other  wearily. 
"It  is  so  long  ago.  But  if  the  negro  is  still  living,  you  could  learn 
from  him  if  he  concealed  the  will,  and  if  he  did,  it  is  not  too  late  to 
make  restitution." 

"  You  mean,  to  restore  the  property  to  Strebling  ?  " 

"  That  is  all  you  can  do,  if  you  do  anything."  The  brown  eyes 
were  duller  with  "each  reply,  the  light  so  gone  out  of  her  face  that 
it  seemed  homely  and  stolid.  What  were  his  property,  or  himself 
to  her?  Garrick  looked  at  her,  at  the  fire,  at  his  boots  on  the  parti 
colored  rug,  coughed,  and  rising,  began  to  walk  about. 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  that  Hugh  might  have  retained  the 
will." 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Of  course,"  hesitatingly,  a  fierce  gleam  in  his  womanish  blue 
eyes,  "  if  he  did,  my  course  is  clear.  But  as  for  his  mere  assertion 
that  he  destroyed  it,  we  do  not  accept  negro  testimony  in  Ken 
tucky.  How  could  I  know  that  he  was  telling  the  truth  ?  " 

Downright  Ross  must  hit  the  nail  of  truth  on  the  head,  though  it 
went  to  the  heart  of  the  man  she  loved.  "  It  would  not  be  an  easy 
sacrifice  to  make.  One  would  be  tempted  to  avoid  it.  But  it 
would  be  honest." 

Randolph  gave  a  bitter,  vacillating  laugh.     "It  would  not  be 
easy.     You  use  moderate  words,  Miss  Burley.     You  do  not  under- 
10 


146  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

stand  what  it  would  be  to  stand  alone  in  the  world,  without  birth' 
right,  almost  without  a  name." 

"  I  think  I  can  understand,"  said  Rosslyn. 

"  It  would  not  be  easy,"  Randolph  broke  out  impetuously,  "  on 
the  eve  of  the  day  when  you  hoped  to  take  the  woman  you  loved 
to  your  old  home,  to  your  mother's  grave,  fancying  that  to  live  near 
it,  would  in  some  way  make  your  new  life  more  blessed,  to  give  over 
home  and  graves  to  a  man  you  despised,  on  the  testimony  of  a 
negro.  'It  would  not  be  easy,  but  it  would  be  honest,'  to  go  to 
the  only  woman  whom  you  ever  wished  to  call  wife  without 
heritage,  with  a  tainted  name  ! " 

"It  would  not  matter  to  a  woman  who  loved,"  said  Rosslyn, 
standing  up,  the  sorrowful  eyes  with  an  inexplicable  loss  in  them 
fixed  on  his.  "  A  woman  would  not  care,  I  think,  for  birthright,  or 
fortune,  or  name.  It  would  be  different  to  a  man." 

"  Well,  well !  We  are  conjuring  up  ghosts  after  all,  that,  perhaps, 
have  no  existence.  I  will  find  there  is  no  cause  for  trouble,  doubt 
less,"  said  Randolph,  pausing  in  his  walk  near  the  window.  "  Friend 
Blanchard  is  returning,"  as  a  coupe,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  grays,  came 
up  the  road.  He  turned  with  a  look  of  chagrin ;  the  day  wras  gone 
and  he  had  dallied  with  opportunity  until  it  was  too  late ;  he  had 
put  his  hand  on  the  wrhite  dove  which  he  would  have  lured  to  his 
breast,  and  now  she  had  escaped  him  again,  for  so  his  fevered  imag 
ination  pufrit  into  words. 

Friend  Blanchard's  old  face  came  in  the  door,  like  a  cheerful 
Winter's  day.  She  glanced  quickly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I  have  brought  thee  some  letters,  Rosslyn.  Garrick  will  make 
me  welcome,  while  thee  reads  them,"  ensconcing  herself  by  the  fire, 
and  opening  her  budget  of  gossip,  and  political  news.  But  Ran 
dolph  answered  at  random ;  there  was  a  new  idea  in  his  crotchety 
brain. 

Rosslyn  ?  Strebling  had  spoken  of  some  woman  whom  he  knew 
here,  and  the  name  had  fixed  itself  in  Garrick's  brain,  always  reten 
tive  of  trifles.  Rosslyn  Comly.  Miss  Burley  had  heard  of  Strebling. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  had  ever  wrought  harm  to  some  woman,  A 
relative  of  Ross'  ?  The  name  must  belong  to  the  family.  Yet  no; 
she  was  a  mere  pauper,  a  fishwoman,  he  remembered. 

But  the  idea  stung  and  annoyed  him ;  the  more  as  there  was  no 
possible  solution  of  the  riddle. 

He  went  away  soon  afterward,  listening  with  forced  smiles  to 
Friend  Blanchard's  sallies,  and  inwardly  cursing  his  delay.  Why 
had  he  not  spoken  the  few  words  which  would  have  given  him  the 
right  to  call  her  his  ?  As  it  was  she  sat  bending  over  a  great  blurred 
sheet  of  foolscap,  scarcely  touching  his  hand  with  her  cold  fingers 
when  he  said  good-by. 

When  he  was  gone,  Ross  went  to  her  own  chamber,  and  laying 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  147 

the  letter  down,  knelt  by  the  window  to  watch  him  going  down 
the  road  ;  she  pushed  her  hair  back.  What  did  it  matter  if  it  never 
curled  again  ?  What  did  it  matter  now,  how  soon  her  flesh  dried 
and  wrinkled,  and  old  age  and  death  came  ?  She  was  not  like 
other  women,  and  their  lot  was  not  hers.  Home,  husband,  child, 
she  had  dreamed  of  them  all,  as  all  young  girls  do.  They  could 
live  down  obstacles  to  their  love,  but  a  shameful  birth,  a  beggarly 
childhood,  these  never  could  be  undone. 

She  knelt  there,  her  hands  stretched  vaguely  out  over  the  window 
sill,  a  long  time,  while  the  snow  whitened  the  fields  and  the  road  on 
which  he  had  disappeared ;  knelt  there  till  the  night  came  silently 
down. 

Many  years  ago,  in  that  shameful  childhood,  old  Joe  had  taught 
her  to  kneel  by  this  very  window  when  she  said  her  evening 
prayer.  "  Seems  like  as  ef  He  was  nearer  out  o'  doors,"  he  said. 
She  had  an  odd  faith  in  the  Helper  who  was  so  real  to  Joe,  then, 
and  now  when  she  saw  Him  under  every  beautiful  work,  or  deed,  or 
true  word  in  the  world,  her  faith  was  just  as  childish.  She  never 
had  tasted  a  pleasure,  in  her  friends,  in  the  good  she  had  done,  in 
her  own  beauty,  or  in  hard-accomplished  work,  that  she  had  not 
thanked  Him  for  it,  and,  perhaps,  asked  for  more.  If  it  had  been 
her  grandfather,  or  her  child  (if  she  had  had  one)  who  lay  dying 
to-night,  she  would  have  asked  his  life,  and  known  it  would  be 
granted.  But  it  was  her  own  womanly  life  that  was  being  stifled, 
her  right  to  love  and  be  loved,  and  if  she  held  out  her  hands  and 
soul  to  the  Something  which  waited  behind  that  solemn  night,  cry 
ing,  "  Thou  knowest  I  have  need  of  these  things,"  who  blames  her  ? 

Friend  Blanchard,  anxiously  listening  at  her  door,  a  long  time 
after,  heard  no  sound ;  but  in  a  little  while  Ross  rose  from  where 
she  sat,  pale  and  wet  in  the  frosty  air,  with  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
Hinile  on  her  lips,  having  given  her  trouble  to  Another  to  care  for. 

She  made  up  a  cheery  fire,  and  undressed  and  crept  into  bed, 
going  to  sleep  as  easily  as  when  old  Joe  used  to  rock  her  in  his 
arms.  It  seemed  to  her  that  no  matter  how  stormy  the  days  com 
ing  might  be,  he  and  his  little  girl  and  the  stranger  who  had  come 
into  their  lives  and  who  was  already  so  dear  to  her,  would  be  led 
together  safely  through  their  journey  to  the  home  waiting  for  them. 
She  had  asked  for  it,  and  it  would  be  done.  So,  dreaming  of  that 
journey,  she  fell  asleep,  and  through  her  sleeping  as  her  waking 
dreams,  the  bells  of  her  childhood  rang  cheerful,  prophetic  music. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

OUT    OF    THE    CAMP. 

rTlHERE  was  no  light  but  that  of  the  dim  glimmer  of  the  snow ; 
JL  the  moon  had  gone  down  early  in  the  evening,  leaving  muddy 
rain-clouds  to  trail  drearily,  one  by  one,  across  the  abyss  of  cold 
and  darkness  yawning  overhead ;  no  rain  fell,  however ;  only  sullen 
gusts  of  blinding  mist  drove  at  intervals  through  the  mountain 
gorges.  By  the  focusless  light,  the  shadows  of  the  flat-topped  Cum 
berland  hills  were  thrown  uncertainly  into  the  ravines  where  the 
rivers  lay  frozen ;  hills  that  rose  in  slow  interminable  succession 
from  horizon  to  horizon,  their  backs  covered  with  snow,  except 
where  some  steep  mountain  peak  rose  like  a  grim,  desperate  ghost, 
to  face  the  bitter  wind,  the  frost  dropping  in  patches  from  his  head, 
like  the  white  hair  and  ragged  beard  of  old,  discrowned  Lear. 

A  dreary,  desolate  landscape,  seen  nearer ;  curiously  wanting  in 
the  nucleus  of  a  human  home ;  neither  hamlet,  nor  even  a  solitary 
farmhouse  with  its  outbuildings  gave  meaning  to  the  slopes  of  stub 
ble,  to  the  great  shivering  forests  knee-deep  in  drifted  snow,  or  the 
muddy  creeks  that  crept  along  between  banks  crusted  with  ice ;  only 
on  the  side  of  a  crescent-shaped  hill  a  group  of  yellow  tents  mottled 
the  white  surface  like  a  cluster  of  mole-hills ;  here  and  there  among 
them  a  fire  burned,  making  a  red,  nebulous  point  of  hazy  light  in 
the  wide,  melancholy  waste. 

It  was  in  fact  a  forlorn  hope  venturing  into  a  forlorn  region :  the 
Federal  command  under  Garfield,  which  was  thrown  forward  among 
the  mountains  at  the  head  of  the  Big  Sandy  to  root  out  whatever 
Confederate  troops  there  might  be  intrenched  in  Eastern  Kentucky, 
before  the  great  simultaneous  movement  ordered  by  the  Govern 
ment  for  the  22d  of  February,  among  the  land  and  naval  forces, 
took  place.  Colonel  Garfield's  force  was  small,  consisting  of  about 
twelve  hundred  men,  and  he  paused  to  gather  more  certain  informa 
tion  as  to  the  position  and  strength  of  the  enemy  before  moving 
into  the  mountain  fastnesses  where  he  was  encamped.  Information 
which  was  not  easy  to  attain  where  the  sparse  population  of  the 
hills  were  all  inimical  to  the  Federals  troops  and  skilled  in  mislead 
ing  them. 

•{  There's  not  one  of  these  stolid-looking  farmers  who  bring  pro 
visions  into  camp,"  said  Captain  Knox  to  his  lieutenant  that  night, 
"  who  does  not  look  on  us  as  invaders,  and  think  he  does  God 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  149 

service  in  picking  us  off  from  behind  the  first  bush  that  will  tiido 
him." 

He  was  sitting  in  his  tent,  writing  on  his  knee  by  the  light  of  a 
tin  lantern ;  he  dug  the  pen  revengefully  into  the  paper  as  he  spoke. 
The  other,  a  sallow  young  fellow  with  a  hook  nose  and  cool,  black 
eye,  stretched  on  a  gum  blanket  on  the  ground,  laughed. 

"  Well,  Cap,  it's  not  every  one  that  can  grasp  a  great  principle  as 
you  have  done  to  fight  for  it ;  but  any  man  knows  the  smell  of  his 
own  barn  when  it  is  burning,  you  see.  Who's  this?"  as  a  tall, 
heavily-built  man  in  butternut  clothes  and  a  white  felt  hat,  stood 
in  the  door  of  the  tent.  Knox  looked  up  impatiently.  "  One  of 
our  bushwhacking  allies,"  under  his  breath. 

"  It's  Burley,  sir,"  lifting  his  finger  to  his  forehead. 

The  young  man  stood  up.  "  What  does  this  disguise  mean  ?  " 
sharply. 

Joe  let  the  curtain  fall  behind  him,  and  came  gravely  into  the  mid 
dle  of  the  tent.  "  It  was  an  idee  I  had,  Capt'n  Knox.  I  thought 
I'd  mention  it  to  you.  You've  got  a  glibber  tongue  than  I  have, 
and  I  thought  you'd  get  me  a  furlough  from  the  colonel.  It's  a  fur 
lough  I  wanted." 

"  A  furlough  ?  For  what,  Burley  ?  We'll  move  in  a  week,  prob 
ably,  and  into  action." 

"  So  ?"  rubbing  his  hands  slowly  over  each  other.  "In  a  week? 
I  hadn't  thought  it  would  be  so  soon.  I'll  hev  to  be  on  hand  when 
we  go  to  work.  Ther's  a  lot  of  boys  in  camp  you  know,  capt'n ; 
mere  college  chaps ;  an'  they'd  make  a  sort  of  example  of  an  old 
fellar  like  me.  That's  so.  Ther's  no  blood  on  my  hands  yit ;  but 
I  am  in  earnest  in  this  matter ;  I'm  not  agoin'  to  take  them  home 
clean."  Yet  he  lifted  them  as  he  spoke,  looking  at  them  with  a 
vague  horror  in  his  face,  dropping  the  words  at  long,  thoughtful 
intervals  in  a  voice  which  had  fallen  into  the  cracked  discordance 
of  old  age. 

Years  had  told  on  him  since  we  saw  him  last ;  the  flesh  was  gone 
from  the  large  bony  limbs ;  his,  joints  were  stiff;  the  clothes  hung 
bagging  from  the  square  hips  and  shoulders ;  the  white  hair  and 
short  white  whiskers  framed  a  gaunt,  rugged  face ;  the  deep- set 
eyes  twinkled  in  their  yellow  hollows  but  seldom,  and  moved  as 
slowly  and  deliberately  as  the  thought  within.  There  was  but  lit 
tle  resemblance  in  him  to  the  gay  young  farmer  who  had  "  kept 
company"  with  Margaret's  mother  forty  years  ago,  or  to  that  jolly 
old  fellow,  with  his  bass  voice  and  hearty  guffaw,  who  drove  a 
Conestoga  wagon  through  the  hill  roads  in  Pennsylvania,  with  Ross 
sitting  by  his  knee.  The  eyes  rested  always  on  a  new  face  dubi 
ously  now,  as  a  man  looks  at  ice  upon  which  he  means  to  venture. 
It  was  curious  to  note  how  anxiously  the  boys  in  camp  deported 
themselves  when  under  the  scrutiny  of  these  eyes,  as  if  on  trial  to 


150  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

prove  whether  they  were  true  men  or  not.  Yet  he  was  the  favorite 
in  his  mess,  enjoyed  all  their  stories  two  or  three  times  over,  and 
told  as  racy  ones  as  any  of  them ;  yet  nobody  ever  faced  old  Burley 
with  a  lie,  or  made  game  of  the  cause  for  which  he  was  fighting. 
There  was  a  trace  of  this  respect  and  sincerity  of  manner  in  the 
young  officers  as  they  talked  to  him. 

"  What's  your  idea,  Joe  ? "  said  Gaines,  as  he  drew  himself  up 
lazily  from  his  blanket,  and  took  down  a  bottle  from  the  shelf. 
"  Take  a  drink  first ;  to  the  health  of  somebody  at  home." 

"  Saddee,  Leftenant ;  that's  heartenin'.  But  I've  only  one  little 
gal  at  home,  and  I  never  take  her  name  in  my  mouth  with  liquor. 
This  was  the  notion  I  had,"  putting  down  the  glass,  and  looking  at 
Knox.  "  You  know  that  young  fellar  as  went  out  to  prospect  a 
week  ago;  up  to  the  forks  of  the  Big  Sandy?  Markle,  by  name? 
Well !  I  was  fond  o'  Markle.  He's  never  got  back ;  d'ye  know  ?  " 
.  "  Certainly ;  Lieutenant  Markle ;  he  went  out  to  reconnoitre," 
a  cloud  crossing  the  captain's  face.  "  Well,  what  of  him  ?  " 

"A  little  black-bearded  fellar.  Well,"  turning  his  hat  inside 
out,  reflectively,  "  he's  not  got  back ;  that's  the  p'int.  I  donno 
what  Colonel  Garfield  thinks,  but  it's  my  opinion  he's  bushwhacked ; 
that's  what  Markle  is — bushwhacked." 

The  young  men  exchanged  significant  glances.  Joe  interpreted 
them  shrewdly. 

"  You  think  so,  likewise  ?  Well,  I've  been  turnin'  the  matter 
over  in  my  mind,  and  I've  concluded  that  it's  not  the  clean  thing 
to  do  not  to  hunt  him  up.  It's  my  place  to  go  in  search  of  him — 
of  Markle.  I'll  likely  find  him ;  likely  not.  He  belonged  to  my 
company ;  I  wish  you'd  mention  that  to  the  colonel,  Capt'n  Knox, 
and  that  I'm  goin'  out  in  these  here  Secesh  clothes  to  lie  round  the 
country  a  bit  in  search  of  him.  That  is,  with  the  colonel's  permit, 
of  course.  Though  he's  no  more  than  a  college  chap,  eyther,"  in  a 
lower  voice. 

Knox  hesitated,  looking  doubtfully  at  the  lieutenant.  "It's  a 
brave  thing  in  you  to  offer,  I  know,  Burley.  These  mountain 
passes  are  beset  with  the  lowest  class  of  Rebels ;  the  offscourings 
of  Marshall's  troops.  I  don't  believe  Garfield  will  allow  you  to 
risk  it.  There  would  be  little  chance  of  your  finding  him,  and  we 
have  no  men  to  spare,  especially  picked  men  like  yourself.  Better 
risk  younger  hands,  if  any." 

The  color  rose  in  Burley's  lean  jaws.  "  As  for  that  remark  about 
picked  men,  I'm  obleeged  to  you,  capt'n.  But  I  don't  think  the 
colonel  '11  object,  onless  you  hint  it  to  him  so  to  do.  Young  Mar 
kle  was  a  fav'rite  of  his'n.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go,"  dog 
gedly,  "if  you'll  git  the  permit.  I  liked  that  little  fellar,  and 
besides,  if  he's  got  a  mother,  I'm  responsible  to  her  for  leavin'  his 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  151 

bones  here  to  be  gnawed  by  the  bars  in  the  wilderness.     They  was 
hardly  a  man's  bones  yet;  he  w'asn't  but  a  boy." 

"  There  are  boys  enough  of  us  to  go  in  sea.rch  of  him,"  said 
Gaines,  hastily.  "  It  is  enough  for  you  to  risk  your  white  head  for 
your  country,  Mr.  Burley,  without  making  it  an  unnecessary  target 
for  these  cursed  sharp-shooters.  On  Markle's  account,  too.  He  was 
a  pop-gun  sort  of  a  fellow,  after  all,"  in  a  lower  tone,  crossing  and 
uncrossing  his  legs  uneasily  as  he  stood. 

Joe  looked  at  him  steadily.  "  He  didn't  seem  that  to  m£,  sir 
Young  fellars  is  generally  raw  and  frothy  like ;  the  army's  too  much 
filled  up  with  them.  I  had  to  come  clear  out  West  to  get  sworn 
in  at  all ;  but  ther  bein'  so  few  men  of  my  age  in  the  army,  makes 
me  more  responsible.  I'll  look  after  the  boy." 

Knox,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  had  left  the  tent ;  but  Gaines 
stood  looking  out  over  the  wide  waste  of  snow  and  darkness  to  the 
hazy,  spectral  mountain  line.  "  Yonder  is  the  route  he  took,"  he 
said  impatiently,  pointing  with  his  hand  across  through  the  gorge 
leading  to  the  Rebel  intrenchments  on  the  head-waters  of  the  Big 
Sandy.  "  It  will  be  throwing  your  life  away  to  follow  him,  and  so 
I  tell  you,  Burley." 

"  As  for  givin'  your  life  away  for  your  country  or  your  friend," 
said  Joe,  deliberately,  "I  don't  think  ther's  much  difference  at  bot 
tom.  So  the  Good  Man  said;  and  He  did  it,  too." 

Gaines  remained  silent,  whistling  a  low  tune,  as  he  stood  in  the 
door  of  the  tent.  Joe  waited  half  an  hour  inside.  "  I'm  afeard  the 
capt'n  hes  some  trouble  about  that  furlough,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
wish  Colonel  Garfield  and  me  was  acquainted,  and  ther'd  be  no  dif- 
fickelty.  But  he  hardly  knows  which  of  his  men's  of  the  right  kid 
ney,  I  expect.  I'll  go  put  my  traps  together,  ef  you'll  let  me  apast, 
Leftenant." 

Gaines  moved  aside.     "  You  make  sure  of  going  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  It's  borne  in  on  me,  somehow,  that  I'll  go.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  bit,"  putting  on  his  overcoat  to  conceal  his  suit  of  butter 
nut,  and  pulling  his  comforter  about  his  ears  as  he  crossed  the  open 
space  to  where  his  company  (one  of  an  Ohio  regiment)  had  their 
quarters.  Two  or  three  men  were  lounging  on  the  ground  about 
the  smouldering  fire  when  he  went  in ;  the  tent  was  dirty ;  the 
straw  on  the  ground  muddy ;  their  clothes  and  blankets  in  a  disor 
dered  heap  ;  the  men  were  as  yet  too  unused  to  camp-life  to  have 
learned  the  advantages  of  order.  The  old  man  stumbled  over  their 
legs,  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  corner  where  his  knapsack  hung  ; 
and  taking  it  down,  began  to  pack  it  as  if  for  a  march. 

"  You're  not  on  picket  to-night,  Joe  ? "  asked  one  of  the  men, 
leaning  on  his  elbow. 

"  No."     He  looked  back  over  his  shoulder,  now  and  then  at  them, 


152  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

and  then  out  at  the  wide,  gloomy  night  settling  .deeper  and  darker 
over  the  mountains.  The  tent  was  a  cheerful  shelter,  after  all ;  he 
came  to  the  fire,  and  spread  out  his  hands  over  it.  Joe  was  an  old 
man  now,  with  habits  grown  stiff  as  his  limbs :  habits  which,  since 
his  youth,  had  been  curiously  methodical  and  clean ;  at  home,  for 
years,  he  had  gone  daily  from  his  neat  chamber  in  the  farm-house 
to  his  neater  little  office  in  the  lumber-yard.  It  came  up  before 
him  suddenly  now,  distinct  as  a  picture :  the  white  walls,  the  big 
wooden  chair,  the  green-covered  desk,  the  fire  in  the  grate,  and  the 
clean  pine  scent  from  the  boards  coming  in  at  the  open  window. 
Rosslyn,  when  she  was  in  town,  would  come  in  always  for  a  few 
minutes'  talk ;  no  one  else,  perhaps,  all  day,  for  customers  were 
few.  He  had  settled  down  there,  in  these  gentle,  easy-going  ways, 
for  life.  This  tent,  with  its  cold  and  discomfort,  the  chances  of 
blood  and  sudden  death  in  wait  just  without,  seemed  to  him,  some 
times,  like  a  horrible  nightmare.  He  listened  now,  silently,  for  a 
while,  to  the  boys  joking  about  "  picking  off  Johnny  Reb,"  etc., 
with  his  head  dropped  on  his  chest. 

"  Seems  to  me,  George  Dunn,  that  is  but  a  peart  and  a  shaller 
way  of  puttin'  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "  When  we  fired  at  that  squad 
of  graycoats  down  on  the  creek  t'other  day,  seemed  as  if  I  could 
see  the  home  each  on  them  had  left  behind,  the  wife,  or  little  chil 
dren,  may  be.  I  ken't  laugh  at  your  jokes,  Dunn." 

"You'd  better  go  home  if  you're  chicken-hearted,  Burley," 
growled  Dunn. 

"  No."  The  old  man's  stern  face  was  set,  his  eyes  turned  to  the 
darkness  without,  as  if  he  found  there  the  meaning  and  aim  of  an 
unflinching  purpose.  "  You're  only  a  lad,  you  don't  understand," 
slowly.  "This  hyer  disease  in  the  country  needed  bloodlettin'.  It 
don't  matter  if  it  was  my  brother's — -let  it  go.  But  it's  no  subjec' 
for  jokes,  to  me,"  with  a  shudder  over  his  powerful  frame. 

The  men  were  silent ;  after  a  little  while,  Joe  looked  a^  an  care 
fully  through  his  knapsack  before  he  strapped  it  on ;  thinking  that 
he  would  ask  for  three  days'  rations.  Perhaps  he  might  not  need 
so  much ;  turning  his  head  to  look  at  the  muddy  gap  in  the  whitish- 
gray  line  of  hills  where  his  road  lay.  But  he  did  not  look  at  it 
something  rose  in  his  throat,  and  choked  him  at  the  thought  of  his 
old  body  lying  stiff  in  the  snow  of  the  gorge  yonder.  He  took  a 
little  Bible  which  he  carried  from  his  breast  pocket,  and  out  from 
the  leaves  a  photograph  of  Ross,  keeping  his  back  carefully  turned 
to  the  men  as  he  held  it  in  the  light  of  the  lantern.  "  Maybe  I 
ought  to  be  keerful  of  myself  for  the  little  'un,"  he  muttered,  doubt 
fully.  "But  I  ken't  leave  the  boy  to  be  gnawed  by  the  bars  yan- 
der.  Rossline  'ud  say  that.  She'd  never  want  to  see  her  grandad 
cotnin'  home  like  a  mean,  oncourageous  hound." 

He  went  out  of  the  tent  a  moment  after,  taking  the  lantern  with 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  153 

him,  the  men  noticed,  and  a  book  with  a  white  card  between  the 
leaves.  When  he  came  back  fhe  light  was  out  in  the  lantern,  his 
coat-collar  was  drawn  closely  up  about  his  pale  face,  and  the  book 
and  card  were  gone. 

"  I'll  say  good-night  now,  boys,"  he  said,  coming  up  to  them. 
Something  in  his  tone  made  them  look  up. 

"  I'll  sleep  out,  I  expect.  Keep  up  a  good  fire,  Jim ;  's  likely  I 
kin  see  it;  it'll  seem  chee'rin'."  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
wistfully  as  he  spoke. 

"  Good-night,  Burley,"  one  or  two  said,  carelessly. 

"You'd  better  hap  up  warm,"  said  Dunn.  "Take  my  blanket, 
it's  bigger  than  you'rn.  This  snow's  bad  for  your  rheumatism." 

"  No,  saddee,  lad.  You  don't  bear  no  malice,  George,  agin'  what 
I  said  of  your  jokes  ?  No.  I  thought  not.  I've  been  rough  with 
you  young  boys,  sometimes.  But  a  man's  temper  gets  out  of  kel- 
ter,  at  my  age.  I'd  like  if  you'd  all  overlook  them  little  brashes 
we've  -had.  Eh  ?  " 

The  men  nodded  and  laughed,  looking  after  him  as  his  gaunt 
figure  halted  in  the  tent  door,  and  the  heavy,  earnest  face  met 
theirs  ;  his  lips  moved  as  if  he  would  have  spoken,  but  changing  his 
mind,  he  only  lifted  his  finger  to  his  forehead,  slowly,  giving  them 
the  military  salute,  and  went  out  into  the  darkness. 

A  few  minutes  later  and  he  stood  with  Knox,  in  the  shadow  of 
his  tent. 

"  Is  there  nothing  more  that  I  can  do  for  you,  Burley  ?  "  said  the 
young  officer.  "  I  brought  passes,  an  order  for  rations,  and  put  up 
a  flask  of  my  own  brandy.  Hush,  no  matter.  Are  there  no  letters, 
or  directions  you  want  to  leave  in  case  that — that —  Life  is  uncer 
tain  with  all  of  us,  you  know,  here,  and —  " 

The  old  man  put  out  his  hand,  but  did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 
When  he  did,  his  voice  was  steady  and  collected.  "Ther's  only 
one  person ;  it's  my  grandda'ater,  Capt'n  Knox.  I  tried  to  write  to 
her  twicci  to-day,  but  I  couldn't — I  couldn't.  Ef  I  don't  come  back 
when  my  furlough's  out,  I'd  be  obleeged  ef  you'd  send  her  a  few 
words.  I've  got  her  address  here.  Tell  her  -where  I  went,  and 
why.  And  what  was  likely  to  be  the  end  of  it.  I'd  be  glad  if 
you'd  tell  it  to  her  as  gentle  as  you  could,  capt'n.  She's  nothin' 
but  a  little  gal ;  a  little,  tender  gal." 

"You  have  a  message — your  love?  or  blessing?"  in  a  lowered 
voice. 

"  Well,  no,"  hesitating.  "  Seems  as  if  I  couldn't  send  them 
to  her  through  a  stranger.  That's  foolish,  maybe,  but  I  feel  that 
way.  Rossline  knows.  There's  no  need  of  words  between  her  and 
me.  She  knows." 

"Good-by,  Burley,  then.  I  wish  we  had  more  such  men  in  the 
army." 


154  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  If  I  had  younger  bones,  I'd  be  worth  more.  Good-by,  Captain 
Knox."  The  two  men  shook  hands  earnestly,  the  young  officer 
standing  afterward  to  watch  the  large,  dark  figure  as  it  slowly 
crossed  the  white  slopes,  until  it  had  disappeared  in  the  hazy  dis 
tance.  Then  he  went  into  his  tent,  and  finding  himself  alone,  after 
a  quick,  conscious  glance  around,  took  out  a  little  gilt-edged  Testa 
ment  from  his  luggage  (quite  new  and  unused),  and  began  to  read 
it.  Something  in  the  homely  sincerity  of  the  old  man  had  driven 
his  thoughts  back  to  homely  and  sincere  words  which  had  lingered 
in  his  memory  since  boyhood ;  the  words  of  that  Elder  Brother  who 
came  to  show  us  that  a  man,(born  among  the  dregs  of  the  people, 
may  make  his  life  purer,  humbler  and  manlier  than  any  that  the 
world  has  known ;  and  who  gave  that  life  at  last  for  the  help,  not 
of  his  friend,  but  his  enemy. 

Meanwhile,  Joe,  plodding  down  the  crooked  path  made  by  the 
men  through  the  underbrush,  reached  the  slope  below,  and  struck 
out  across  the  white  stretch  southward  at  an  even,  steady  'gait ; 
wrapping  his  blanket  closer  about  his  head  and  chest  to  defend 
himself  from  the  nipping  wind.  Now  and  then  he  turned  his  back 
to  it,  and  stopped  to  look  up  at  the  camp-fires,  throwing  red,  low 
glances  of  light  down  the  hill;  he  could  distinguish  Jim's  among 
the  rest.  Then  he  went  on,  clapping  his  arms,  before  and  behind 
as  porters  do,  to  keep  himself  warm,  and  began  to  sing  his  one 
song,  which  he  had  roared  when  he  was  a  boy,  about  "  Cease,  rude 
Borus,  blusterin'  railer,"  not  knowing  at  all  that  he  meant  the 
wind.  But  his  voice  died  out  in  his  lungs  in  a  cracked  treble,  even 
the  whistle  which  he  attempted  had  to  be  given  up ;  only  the 
resolute  thump,  thump  of  his  heavy  boots  in  the  snow  broke  the 
silence. 

As  he  penetrated  farther  and  farther  into  the  darkness,  the  fires 
became  mere  points  of  ruddy  glitter.  But  they  seemed  in  some 
way  to  connect  him  to  safety  and  Ross.  At  last,  however,  the  spur 
of  the  hill  behind  which  he  must  pass  crossed  the  road ;  the  olcj. 
man  paused  again,  looked  long  and  steadily  at  the  red  sparks,  and 
then  turning  his  back  on  them,  drew  a  long,  courageous  breath  and 
plunged  into  the  wide,  homeless  night. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 


155 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    MOUNTAIN   PASS. 

^'NARROW  pass  between  two 
of  the  low,  sharp  peaks  of 
the  Cumberland  mountains. 
From  their  heights,  on  a 
Summer  morning,  it  is  a 
purely  American  landscape 
that  opens ;  stretches  of  suc 
culent,  arable  land,  in  broad, 
green  slopes,  lonely,  un 
used  ;  mountains  unmined 
and  untunnelled,  their  treas 
ures  close  hid  under  jealous, 
heavy  forests,  rising  solitary 
and  at  long  intervals,  left 
there  to  dream  with  the 
whitish  mist  clinging  to 
them,  as  if  the  moonlight 
and  they,  forgotten,  had 
slept  into  the  common  day 
together  ;  muddy  roads, 
creeping  through  cuts  in  the 
hills,  their  banked  sides 
of  gray  sandstone,  oozing  and  wet,  stained  red  with  iron ;  yellow 
creeks  coiling,  filled  with  life,  through  rocky,  mountain  gullies, 
through  dusky  maple  woods,  through  orchards  and  wide,  half- 
tilled  farms ;  the  smoke  of  iron-furnace  fires  off  to  the  north,  blown 
in  purple  and  saffron  dots  across  the  sky;  perpetual  sounds  coming 
up  to  these  heights,  of  far-off  voices,  of  lowing  cattle,  the  bee's 
drone,  the  sobbing,  under-ground  hill  springs  making  their  way 
down  to  the  quiet  valleys,  the  hush  of  listening  forests  ;  that  inar 
ticulate  voice  of  a  Summer  day,  far  and  dim,  near  akin  to  silence, 
with  meaning  that  always  calls  to  us,  yet  never  reaches  the  ear  of 
our  car,  wait  we  ever  so  patiently. 

To  a  traveller  of  clear  instincts,  looking  from  these  heights,  there 
would  come,  on  a  Summer  day,  the  certainty  that  he  stood  on 
ground  belonging  to  a  new  world ;  a  sense  of  untested  strength,  of 
waiting  space  and  nourishment  for  homes;  of  beauty,  rank  in  its 
vigor ;  and  above  all  that  uneasy,  unanchored  explorer's  feeling, 
everywhere  epidemic  in  the  raw,  restless  air  of  the  States,  the  sense 
that  the  present  foothold  was  but  a  promise ;  that  over  the  river, 
over  the  mountain,  just  beyond  the  eye's  range,  lay  the  land  of  his 
desire.  The  very  air  itself  blew  outward  eagerly,  the  streams 


156  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

crept  out — out  under  the  far  violet-tinted  horizon  to  a  wider,  better 
country,  to  which  that  violet  line  formed  the  intangible  and  only 
barrier. 

But  old  Joe  Burley  found  another  meaning  in  the  pass  and  long, 
sharp-edged  mountains  fencing  it  in,  as  he  entered  it  near  the  close 
of  a  long  Winter's  night.  A  rainy  night,  sodden  and  heavy ;  it 
blotted  out  utterly  the  sweeps  of  mountain  ranges,  farms  and  forests, 
and  drew  in  the  horizon  for  the  old  man  to  the  gray  walls  of  rock 
that  opened  on  either  side  a  murky  gap  for  him  to  pass  through. 

For  three  days  he  had  been  tramping  through  these  slopes  of 
moorland,  these  hill  defiles  and  listening  forests,  which  opened  so 
fair  and  prophetic  a  scroll  to  the  Summer  sun.  Whatever  meaning 
they  bore  now,  found  utterance  in  the  charred  farm-houses  which 
he  passed,  in  the  groups  of  dirty,  white  tents  that  were  clustered 
here  and  there  on  the  creek  banks,  in  the  nameless  graves  >  **.  scarred 
the  fields.  Beyond  that,  there  was  silence. 

The  old  man  had  plodded  on  from  one  mountain  range  to  another, 
falling  in  with  bushwhackers,  with  outlying  Federal  scouts,  with 
gangs  of  men  ready  to  plunder  on  either  side ;  he  had  cut  loose  all 
ties  behind  him,  and  held  his  life  ready  for  the  moment's  calL 
Shrewdly  enough,  he  had  assumed  a  character  which  required  no 
acting  for  him  to  sustain — that  of  a  mule-breeder,  who  had  sold  his 
stock  to  Humphrey  Marshall,  and  was  making  his  way  home  again 
to  Letcher  County.  His  rations  were  gone  ;  ,Jie  dragged  his  heavy, 
rheumatic  old  legs,  in  their  leather  leggings,  up  the  rocks  like  a 
burden  ;  he  believed  that  they  found  in  every  icy  pool  or  clammy 
clay-bog  in  which  they  sank,  a  new  and  keener  pain. 

He  had  traced  Markle  successfully  to  this  gap  in  the  mountains. 
The  young  man  had  reached  it  three  days  before.  Outside  of  it,  on 
one  side,  lay  encamped  a  body  of  cavalry,  an  outpost  of  Marshall'.; 
forces,  which  then  were  moving  up  toward  the  hills  on  Middia 
Creek,  below  Prestonburg  ;  on  the  other  side,  the  mountain  •sloped 
down  into  the  river,  a  bed  at  its  base  of  miry  clay  more  impregnable 
than  the  human  rampart  to  the  assault  of  the  dare-devil,  reconnoi- 
treing  little  Lieutenant.  Burley,  assuming  that  he  was  in  the  gap, 
had  penetrated  to  its  further  end,  and  found  there,  just  as  night 
closed  on  him,  an  unfordable  stream. 

Rain  began  to  fall ;  he  was  baffled  at  every  turn  ;  he  found  shelter 
under  a  projecting  rock,  and  tried  to  sleep  until  morning.  When 
the  darkness  began  to  grow  colder  and  less  dense,  he  got  up,  buck 
ling  his  leather  strap  tighter  about  his  stomach  to  stifle  the  pain, 
stamped,  and  coughed,  and  lit  his  pipe,  bracing  himself  up  for  the 
day's  work,  and  then  turned  his  face  sturdily  to  the  dreary  gorge 
again,  trying  to  understand  that  he  was  Joseph  Barley,  lumberman, 
and  that  this  slough  of  night  and  peril  was  the  old,  hearty,  friendly 
world  whose  tricks  he  thought  he  had  learned  in  sixty  years. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  157 

Perhaps  Joe's  insight  was  not  so  clear  as  that  of  the  traveller  on 
the  Summer's  morning,  or  perhaps  (for  he  was  a  dull,  superstitious 
lout  in  his  youngest  day)  his  instincts  were  only  keen  enough  to 
discover  the  passing,  transient  phase  of  meaning  on  the  face  of  the 
country  that  had  given  him  birth.  For,  as  he  entered  the  gap,  no 
prophecy  of  waiting  homes  or  a  nation's  glory  came  to  him,  but  a 
curious  conviction,  instead,  that  he  was  going  to  meet  the  end  of 
some  miserable  tragedy,  the  consummation  of  a  crime  that  cried 
aloud  to  God  or  to  man  for  redress. 

The  feeling  was  the  stronger  in  the  old  man's  mind,  because  there 
was  no  outward  storm  or  turbulence  in  the  coming  day  ;  the  disquiet 
in  the  air  was  that  of  a  dull  despair  rather  than  that  discontent 
which  could  find  vent  in  ordinary  tempest  or  outcry ;  even  the 
solemn  gloom  of  the  mountain  peaks  was  lowered  and  made  com 
mon  in  the  foggy,  breathless  morning ;  colorless  and  torpid  as  the 
face  of  a  dead  man  with  whom  remains  neither  anger  nor  hope, 
whose  eyes  are  shut,  whose  lips  are  bound,  knowing  that  the  ver 
dict  had  been  recorded  and  the  Book  forever  closed. 

The  white  snow  had  melted  in  the  pass  and  lay  in  miserable,  rot 
ting  heaps  of  slush ;  there  was  not  a  gust  of  frosty,  clean  wind  to 
tell  of  the  wholesome  Winter's  nights  gone  before;  the  stars,  which 
have  looked  down,  with  their  calm  gospel  of  good-will  and  forgive 
ness,  on  many  a  fiercer  victory  of  human  wrath  and  injustice  than 
that  old  murder  of  helpless  Abel,  had  gone  out  of  these  muddied 
skies;  only  the  clammy  clay,  clogging  his  feet,  holding  him  back ; 
the  dull,  monotonous  rain  filling  the  world  as  with  a  perpetual, 
uncomforted  sorrow,  and  the  gray,  rocky  cliffs,  opening  before  him. 

It  was  natural  that  Burley,  who  was  a  soldier,  and  fighting  for 
an  idea,  should  refer  all  individual  impressions  to  that  one  great 
.cause.  He  entered  the  gorge,  with  a  sort  of  dogged  certainty, 
expecting  to  find  Markle's  dead  body  in  the  crevices  of  the  impend 
ing  rocks.  "  It  seemed  to  me,"  he  said  afterward,  "  that  them  gap 
ing  stone  walls  was  like  a  tomb,  and  that  he  would  be  found  there, 
lyin',  like  Lazarus,  bound  hand  and  foot.  There  was  a  cry  in  the 
very  air  that  mornin'.  I  seemed,  too,  to  begin  to  see  ther',  as  the 
night  broke  and  the  gray  dawn  set  in,  how  the  great  and  terrible 
day  of  the  Lord,  prophets  talked  of,  was  upon  us :  when  the  young 
and  strong  men  offered  themselves  a  willin'  sacrifice.  The  mornin' 
had  nyther  help  nor  comfort  in  it.  I  could  hear  my  brother's  blood 
callin'  from  the  ground  agin  them  that  slayed  him.  I  could  hear 
the  voice  of  one  in  the  wilderness,  cryin'  for  her  children,  like  one 
who  would  not  be  comforted,  because  they  were  not." 

In  which  poor  Burley  stumbled  blindly  on  a  truth  deeper  than 
all  facts.  For  that  great  and  awful  Presence,  that  Comforter  who 
was  to  come,  who  struggles  to  touch  us  in  the  living  sunlight  or  in 
the  healing  wind,  who  gropes  vaguely  up  through  wayside  dust,  or 


158  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

fluttering  leaf,  who  calls  aloud  to  us  in  the  wailing  sea,  who  wraps 
us  at  last  in  the  warm  mould,  the  thing  which  philosophers  familiar- 
ize  as  Nature,  and  for  whose  human  tenderness  and  strength  men 
can  find  no  other  name  than  that  of  Mother,  does  so  mourn  for  its 
maimed  children,  does  so  rejoice  with  those  who  inherit  their  birth 
right,  that  the  terrible  pathos  of  its  voice  grows  sometimes  audible 
to  natures  more  obtuse  than  that  of  this  old  man.  Yet,  it  was 
natural  to  him,  if  any  mysterious  echo  of  meaning  reached  him 
through  the  silent,  unlit  dawn,  or  clammy  air,  to  'fancy  that  the 
dirge  belonged  to  the  young,  brave  hero,  dead  on  the  field  of  battle, 
rather  than  to  some  life  lost,  with  its  battles  unwon,  unfought. 

Keeping  his  head  down  on  his  chest,  his  eyes  glancing  furtively 
from  side  to  side,  he  pushed  up  the  ravine,  the  uncertain  light  begin 
ning  to  make  the  clefts  along  the  rocks  visible  through  the  low- 
lying,  sluggish  fog. 

No  dead  body  met  his  eye. 

On  the  further  side  of  the  gully,  he  had  noticed,  the  day  before, 
the  remains  of  an  old  hut,  built  against  the  side  of  the  hill,  the  door 
of  which  swung  by  one  hinge  in  the  wind,  giving  a  full  view  of 
broken  boards  and  muddy  floor  inside. 

Coming  near  to  it  now,  however,  Joe  perceived,  dimly,  the  figure 
of  a  man  in  the  doorway,  with  one  arm  thrown  up  over  his  head, 
covered  with  a  ragged  red  flannel  shirt-sleeve.  Burley  hailed  him, 
but  received  no  answer ;  the  figure  disappearing  so  suddenly  that 
he  almost  believed  it  a  deception  of  the  fog.  He  paused  a  moment, 
uncertainly,  then  crossing  to  the  other  side  of  the  gorge,  hurried  on. 

How  far  he  walked  he  did  not  know;  probably  not  out  of  the 
man's  sight,  or  perhaps  the  other  followed  him  stealthily.  But  all 
the  weakness,  and  hunger,  and  disappointment  against  which  he  had 
fought  for  days,  seemed  to  assault  poor  Joe's  old  body  and  brain 
in  one  moment.  His  pipe  went  out  and  dropped  from  his  mouth, 
his  knees  tottered,  his  teeth  chattered  helplessly,  he  stood  with  his 
feet  glued  in  the  muddy  slime,  stretching  out  his  arms. 

"  Tut !  tut !  Rossline  ud  think  her  grandad  was  made  of  poor 
stuff! "  he  muttered,  with  a  laugh,  which  went  down  into  a  misera 
ble  chuckle,  tugging  vainly  at  his  feet. 

A  pair  of  strong  hands  caught  him  under  the  arm-pits  and  eased 
him  out  of  the  slough.  But  Joe's  eyes  were  dim.  "  I'm  obleeged 
to  you,  comrad.  I'm  obleeged  to  you.  These  legs  of  mine  is  a 
dead  lift  to-day." 

After  that  he  was  only  conscious  enough  to  know  that  he  was 
slowly  helped  along  for  some  distance,  and  then,  that  there  was  a 
sudden  change  in  the  temperature,  the  air  about  him  being  warm 
and  dry,  and  that  he  was  seated  with  a  glass  of  liquor  to  his  lips. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  found  himself  in  the  hut  with  his  back 
to  the  wall.  The  roof  <Hvas  barely  high  enough  for  a  man  to  stand 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  159 

upright  in ;  the  ground  was  covered  with  dried  wisps  of  hay.  His 
legs  were  bared  to  the  knees,  and  A  man  was  squatted  on  the  ground 
in  front  of  him  rubbing  them  vigorously.  Buiiey  tried  feebly  to 
draw  them  away. 

"  Xo,  sir,  no  ;  I  kent  allow  that." 

The  man  sopped  a  rag  he  had  from  the  bottle  of  whiskey,  spilling 
it  over  the  floor,  and  began  to  polish  away  more  vehemently  than 
before,  with  a  cordial,  eager  laugh,  curiously  out  of  keeping  with 
the  place.  The  more  Joe  rebelled,  the  more  he  polished,  and  sopped, 
and  chuckled. 

"  Enough  o'  that,  comrad,  I  tell  you.  Them  old  trotters  is  nigh 
done  for,"  looking  down  with  a  covert  admiration  at  the  big  brawny 
muscles  under  the  chilled,  purple  skin.  "  I  thought  them  nags  ud 
hold  me  my  time ;  but  they've  had  their  day.  They've  had  their 
day.  Your'e  thro  win'  the  good  liquor  away,  man  !  " 

The  man  dashed  it  out  with  a  bravado  of  generosity,  like  one 
who  would  be  a  spendthrift  in  a  paltry  way,  if  he  dared,  and  after 
a  final  rub,  drew  out  of  an  inner  pocket  a  patched  pair  of  woollen 
socks  and  put  them  on  Barley's  feet ;  keeping  his  head,  as  he  did  it, 
persistently  bent  so  as  almost  to  conceal  his  face.  Joe  perceived, 
however,  from  the  shirt  that  he  wore,  that  it  was  the  man  whom  he 
had  passed  on  the  road.  He  could  see  also  that  he  was  small, 
dressed  in  trousers  and  waistcoat  of  stained  broadcloth,  made  to  fit 
a  much  larger  person ;  his  hair  was  iron-gray  and  cut  short ;  about 
the  top  of  the  head,  bald,  the  forehead  broad  and  protuberant,  the 
hands  horny  and  large-knuckled.  Dangling  from  his  ears,  and  on 
one  finger,  were  gaudy  rings  set  with  red  glass  stones. 

Joe's  tone,  when  he  saw  these,  became  more  assured  and  kindly ; 
but  he  did  not  call  him  " comrad"  again. 

"  Kin  you  spare  your  rations,  my  man  ?  "  when  he  found  the  other 
was  bringing  out  some  corn-bread  and  slices  of  pork  from  an  inner 
cranny  of  the  hovel.  "  I've  got  money  enough  for  us  both,  but 
it's  been  slack  lines  with  me  in  the  way  of  feedin'  for  two  days 
now." 

The  man  nodded,  still  preserving  his  forced  silence,  and  placed 
the  food  before  him,  spreading  out  a  clean  towel,  in  which  it  had 
been  wrapped  by  way  of  a  napkin,  and  then  turned  away,  looking 
down  the  road,  laughing  secretly  to  himself  when  he  heard  the  old 
man  munching  eagerly.  Meanwhile  Joe  scanned  him  anxiously. 
He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  "  an'  breakin'  fast,"  Buiiey  perceived. 
Beside  the  heavy  forehead,  there  was  little  to  note  in  his  small,  clean 
shaven  face  beyond  the  reticent,  slow-moving,  melancholy  eyes. 
The  mouth  was  weak,  the  chin  retreating. 

"That  old  fellar  lies  black  blood  in  him,"  thought  Buiiey,  per 
plexed.  "Ef  he  knows  wher'  Markle's  to  be  found,  he'll  never 
give  him  up  to  me  with  these  secesli  clothes  ofc."  For  he  had  found 


160  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

the  negroes  along  his  route  invariably  distrustful  of  his  errand  and 
disguise.  He  began  his  soundings  cautiously. 

"  Yer  a  native  hereabouts,  my  man,  eh  ?  " 

The  man  turned  quickly,  raising  his  hand  to  his  head  mechanically. 
"I'm  de  dining-room  servant  of  Colonel  Wilder.  His  house  is  jess 
beyond  dat  farder  hill.  My  name's  George.  George  Wilder,  cunnel's 
folks  call  me,"  the  words  slipping  off  his  tongue  like  a  parrot's 
chatter ;  then  he  fell  again  into  his  watchful  silence,  keeping  one 
eye  on  the  road  and  the  other  on  Burley.  Joe  put  down  his  chunk 
of  corn-bread,  looking  at  him  with  a  baffled  stare.  He  could  not 
tell  the  man  whose  food  he  had  just  eaten  that  he  was  lying. 

"  But  ther's  none  of  his  sort  that  won't  try  to  outwit  a  white 
man,"  he  thought.  "  The  poor  critters  is  druv  to  it ;  and  this  man 
hes  a  purpose  in  it." 

Now,  too,  that  the  temporary  weakness  was  overcome  by  rest 
and  food,  and  Burley  began  to  draw  strong,  hearty  breaths  again, 
the  old  consciousness  of  the  intangible  foreboding  of  ill  about  him 
returned.  The  hut  in  which  he  sat,  comfortably  enough,  was  dark  ; 
the  broken  entrance  made  a  frame  for  the  incessant,  cruel  rain  and 
cheerless  twilight  without ;  the  man  in  the  doorway,  with  his  limp, 
stooped  body,  and  that  furtive,  hunted  look  turned  down  into  the 
road,  was  a  fitting  figure  to  give  meaning  to  the  day.  The  momen 
tary,  childish  pleasure  of  rescuing  Burley,  of  rubbing  and  feeding 
him,  had  died  away ;  when  he  was  conscious  of  the  old  man's  scru 
tiny  he  shuffled  uneasily.  There  was,  indeed,  this  peculiarity  about 
the  man,  old  as  he  was,  that  his  limbs  fell  when  not  used  into  aim 
less,  unpurposed  movement,  as  if  the  members  of  his  body  had  not 
even  the  one  common,  informing  motive  of  life  which  gives  to  an 
animal  its  calm,  steady  composure  of  motion,  but  were  to  be  used 
at  the  will  of  another.  The  very  eye  which  should  have  discovered 
his  separate  identity,  with  all  of  its  reticence  and  melancholy,  had 
yet  that  conscious,  irresolute  look  of  a  child  or  idiot,  who  knows 
itself  a  parasite,  and  dependent  on  a  more  adult  nature. 

Burley,  however,  saw  nothing  of  this.  A  certain  familiarity  with 
the  man's  figure  and  face  puzzled  and  irritated  him.  "  It's  the  same, 
and  not  the  same  as  some  other  I've  seen,"  he  thought.  Then, 
going  up  to  him,  he  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  There's  some 
one  comin'  up  the  hill  as  you're  afeard  on  ?  "  he  said. 

The  man  shifted  his  position  suddenly,  but  looked  Burley  straight 
in  the  eyes.  "  No ;  what  for  ud  I  watch  ?  I  am  Gunnel  Wilder's 
man.  My  name's  George." 

"  True,  true  !  "  Burley  leaned  one  arm  against  the  jamb  of  the 
door,  looking  down  at  him.  "  Ef  I  let  him  alone  he'll  leak  out  all 
his  secrets,"  he  said  to  himself;  but  he  kept  his  eye  steadily  on  him, 
as  he  would  hold  his  hand  on  the  lock  of  a  door  that  he  meant  to 
open.  He  was  not  mistaken. 


I 

WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  161 

"  You  coined  up  from  beyond  Gunnel  Wilder's,  suh  ?  "  the  man 
asked  at  last. 

"  Yes." 

"  I've  not  been  dar  dese  seberal  days,"  hesitating.  "  I  went  down 
to  Jennie's  creek  for  de  cunnel.  Its  prob'le  you  could  tell  me  some 
ob  de  news  dar,  now." 

"  What  news  ?  "  Joe  fumbled  at  his  cravat  carelessly,  knowing 
that  some  hint  of  the  truth  would  speedily  appear.  The  man's  jaw 
fell,  he  coughed  huskily,  but  said,  finally,  distinctly, 

"  Dar  was  some  strangers  dar.  Dey  come  from  Pulaski  County, 
de  day  I  lef.  You  don't  know  if  dey's  gone,  suh  ?  " 

"  Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  Dar  was  Mist  Laurar  Page.  An  dere  was  de  gemman  from 
Alabama,  an  he's  son,  out  um  Zollicoffer's  army." 

Some  old  remembrance  made  Burley  stand  erect,  throwing  back 
his  powerful  shoulders.  "  Alabama  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  suh.  M's  Jeems  Strebling  an'  he's  son.  Maje  Robert,  dat 
ar.  You  don't  know  if  dey's  gone  out  um  dar  ?  " 

"  No."  Burley  said  no  more,  though  his  lips  moved.  What  the 
mulatto's  keen  instinct  could  read  in  his  face  he  did  not  consider, 
until,  happening  to  look  down  at  his  feet,  where  the  man  sat 
crouching  on  the  door-step,  he  found  him  peering  eagerly  up,  with 
his  lips  apart.  When  he  caught  Joe's  eye  he  laughed,  pressing  his 
palms  softly  together. 

"  I  tink,  suh,  y'  knowed  M's  Jeems.  I  su'mise  dat  he  was  no 
friend  of  yours." 

Joe  drew  his  fingers  through  his  gray  beard  again  and  again,  his 
eye  contracted,  while  he  kept  his  face  set  toward  the  dull  twilight, 
as  if  he  heard  some  voice  beyond  the  mulatto's  challenging  him  to 
plead  guilty  or  not  guilty.  He  was  saying  certain  words  over  to 
himself,  how  that  twenty-odd  years  were  gone ;  how  that,  after  all, 
men  like  Strebling  were  not  to  be  hated  for  the  ill  they  did,  more 
than  any  noxious  vermin ;  how  that  the  Good  Man  had  been  very 
near  to  old  Joe  Burley  these  many  years,  and  was  he  to  bring  back 
his  soul  to  Him  at  last  with  this  black  drop  in  it  ?  With  that  the 
black  drop  rose,  and  dyed  his  face  purple,  and  thickened  his 
tongue. 

"  I'd  rather  not  talk  of  Jeems  Strebling.  I  think,  after  all,  I'll 
not  die  till  that  score's  clean  between  him  and  me." 

The  man  got  up  suddenly,  some  vehement  emotion  making  his 
whole  body  rigid.  "  Why,  you're  white  !  "  he  said.  "  What  kin 
ole  M's  do  to  you  ?  " 

Joe  turned  quickly.     "  You  are  his  slave,  then  ?  " 

The  man  put  out  both  hands,  looking  Joe  in  the  face,  silent  for  a 
moment ;  then  they  fell     "  You're  too  keen-eyed  for  me,  M's,"  he 
said.     "  Yes,  I  am  dat." 
11 


162  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Burley  did  not  speak.  The  mulatto  stood  looking  out  into  the 
rain,  some  thought,  which  Joe  could  not  fathom,  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  allers  say  dat  ar,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  slave.  Some  of  our 
people  name  demselves  cullored  men  an'  suvants;  but  I  tell 
em  dat  name  b'longs  to  sech  as  own  demselves.  I  b'long  to  M's 
Jeems  Strebling.  Gunnel  Wilder  once  he  offered  him  his  bay  mare 
for  me,  but  M's  said  I  was  wuth  more  to  him.  If  de  filly  had  been 
trowed  in,  it  would  hev  fetched  me.  I  b'long  to  dat  ar  Jeems 
Strebling.  All  dat's  of  ine  is  wuth  just  dat  bay  mare  an'  her  filly." 

If  there  was  any  irony  in  this,  it  did  not  reach  Joe's  brain. 
"  Look  here,  my  man,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  laying  one 
brawny  hand  on  the  little  man's  shoulder,  and  turning  him  about 
in  front  of  his  dogged,  ox-like  face.  "  It's  no  concern  of  mine  who 
you  are.  You  was  hospittable  to  me,  and  I  wormed  yer  secret  out, 
and  it  was  an  underhand  sort  of  thing  to  do.  Now,  in  return,  I'm 
going  to  trust  you.  These  clothes  don't  belong  to  me.  I  come  out 
of  a  government  regiment  a  bit  off  among  the  hills.  I'm  in  sarch 
of  a  little  fellar  that  I  think  is  likely  bushwhacked.  He's  a  blue- 
coat — a  Yankee ;  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  suh,  I  understand." 

Hitherto  the  mulatto  had  followed  Burley's  meaning  with  greedy 
avidity;  but  at  the  first  mention  of  the  missing  man  there  was  a 
quick  flash  of  intelligence  in  his  face,  and  then  it  lapsed  into  the 
dullest  stolidity.  He  stooped  indifferently  to  tie  his  shoe.  Joe 
went  on,  raising  his  voice, 

"  I'm  one  of  them  Federal  soldiers  yer  master's  fightin'  ag'inst. 
You've  got  my  life  in  your  hands  now,  you  see.  But  I  thought 
you'd  likely  heerd  of  Markle  dodgin'  about  these  hills.  I  lost 
traces  of  him  in  this  gap.  He's  a  little  black-eyed  chap,  with  his 
face  covered  with  hair." 

The  man's  fingers  shook  a  little  as  he  tied  the  leather  string  before 
answering.  "  Before  de  Lo'd,  suh,  I  neber  seed  de  man." 

A  sound,  like  a  billet  of  wood  thrown  against  the  inner  door,  was 
followed  by  a  storm  of  shouts  and  oaths.  "This  way,  Burley,  this 
way !  Nat,  you  devil,  you'll  die  lying,  though  the  truth  would 
serve  you  better  !  Here,  Burley  !  " 

Joe's  plunge  into  the  back  room  and  guffaw  when  he  reached  it 
shook  the  shed.  Markle  was  lying,  in  his  shirt  and  trousers,  on  a 
pallet  of  straw,  near  a  low,  smouldering  fire.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
you  came  in  search  of  me,  Joe  ?  There's  a  chunk  of  log,  that's  all 
the  seat  we  have  ;  sit  down,  old  fellow,  sit  down.  Yes,  I  was  nearly 
done  for ;  here's  where  the  bullet  went  in.  But,  I'll  be  up  to-mor 
row,  Nathan  says.  How  far  will  I  have  .to  walk?  Where  did  you 
leave  the  boys?  Do  you  know  that  fellow  saved  my  life?  That 
Nat.  The  cursedest  liar !  But  he  found  me  two  days  ago,  in  the 
jimson  weeds,  there  at  the  end  of  the  gully :  one  of  Marshall's 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  1C3 

scouts  winged  me  an  hour  before.  I've  the  bullet  here  in  my  pocket. 
N"at  found  it." 

"  Slow,  Leftenant,  slow  !     You're  losin'  breath,"  laughed  Joe. 

They  both  laughed  a  little  more  than  was  necessary ;  Markle 
catching  his  breath  with  a  hysteric  sob,  slapping  his  hand  once 
and  again  on  Joe's  great  paw  where  it  lay  on  the  bed. 

"  Why,  Joe,  three  days  ago,  I  made  up  my  mind  the  game  was 
up !  I  never  looked  to  see  old  Dubuque  or  the  boys  again.  It 
seemed  as  if  they  all  come  back  to  me  when  your  old  face  showed 
in  that  door !  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  Nat.  Here,  Nathan  ! " 
rapping  on  the  floor  with  a  stick. 

The  door  opened  and  the  man  entered.  He  looked  deprecatingly 
at  Burley.  "  Beg  pardon  for  deceibin'  of  you,  suh,  but  I  didn't 
know  whether  yon  was  a  friend  of  M's  Markle's  or  no." 

"  Well,  now,  you  told  me  your  own  secret  ?  "  said  Joe. 

The  man  rubbed  his  bald  crown  doubtfully:  "So  I  did,  sah,  so 
I  did.  I  neber  could  keep  my  mind  to  myself,  not  since  I  was  a 
boy.  But  about  M's  Markle,  here,"  busying  himself  with  the  bed 
clothes,  "  dat  was  a  matter  of  honor,  dat  minded  my  tongue  to 
keep  quiet." 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  Burley,  before  Nathan,  what  he  has  done 
for  me,"  said  Markle,  holding  the  man's  arm  by  the  sleeve.  "  For 
three  days  he  has  waited  here  to  nurse  me,  within  gunshot  range 
of  his  master,  liable  to  detection  any  moment.  He  was  escaping 
when  he  found  me.  He  was  a  total  stranger  to  me — a  total 
stranger." 

"  Shell  I  tell  you  why  I  done  dat  ?  "  said  Nathan,  looking  up 
quickly.  "  In  dese  tree  days,  M's  Markle,  you've  not  said  once  by 
your  looks  dat  you  was  white  and  I  was  black." 

"  Bah  !  What's  the  skin  ?  That  prejudice  will  vanish  like  the  one 
our  Salem  grandfathers  had  against  old  women.  The  world  moves 
— it  moves  !  And  you  came  in  search  of  me,  Burley  ?  "  dragging 
himself  up  on  one  elbow  energetically.  "  Well,  people  say  the 
world  is  selfish,  and  given  up  to  trade.  By  the  Lord,  when  I  think 
of  Nat  and  you,  here,  risking  your  lives  for  such  a  useless  cub  as 
I've  been —  And  there's  deeds  like  that  done  every  day  in  this 
war.  Talk  of  your  old  chivalry  and  brotherhood — " 

"  I  never  heerd  about  that  chivalry,"  said  Joe,  slowly,  spitting 
reflectively,  after  a  furtive  glance  at  the  mulatto's  eager  face.  "  But, 
seems  to  me  it's  a  helpful  time  in  the  world.  Ther's  thousands  of 
young  men  gone  into  this  war  to  give  Nathan  here,  and  his  kin,  the 
chance  of  bein'  men,  and  not  property,  wuth  the  vally  of  a  horse. 
Ef  you  knew,  Nathan,"  said  Joe,  with  the  patronage  which  black 
blood  always  brought  into  his  manner,  yet  speaking  directly  to  a 
hungry  something  that  looked  out  of  the  man's  eyes  into  his  own, 
"  ef  you  and  your  kin  knew  the  price  that's  beiri'  paid  for  your 


164  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

chance,  in  the  best  blood  of  the  country,  you'd  u?e  it  when  it 
came." 

Markle's  irascible  face  grew  a  shade  paler.  "  Joe,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"  If  I  were  Nathan,  or  one  of  his  race,  I  would  say  the  price  ought 
to  be  paid.  I  would  enter  into  no  abasement  of  gratitude.  What  if 
the  best  blood  of  the  country  does  flow  to  give  him  his  chance? 
It  is  late  in  the  day.  My  God  !  Look  at  him !  " 

Even  to  Joe's  slow  brain  his  meaning  was  clear.  Something  in 
Nathan's  figure,  as  he  stood  by  the  wall,  bending  humbly,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  gave  Burley  a  perception  of  the  wrong  done 
to  him  and  his  people,  which  no  slave's  branded  hand  or  scarred 
back  had  ever  done  before.  He  took  out  his  pipe  restlessly,  and 
filled  it,  wondering,  uneasily,  why  God  made  men  niggers,  after 
all.  Being  made,  it  was,  maybe,  better  if  they'd  put  up  with  their 
lot. 

Markle's  wiry  voice  sounded  like  a  woman's  when  he  spoke  again. 
"  If  I  did  not  say  to  you  that  you  were  black  since  we  were  to 
gether,  there  has  not  been  an  hour  in  which  I  forgot  it.  Why, 
you're  a  middle-aged  man,  Nathan.  More  than  half  of  his  life  is 
over,  Burley.  Look  at  his  face ;  there  is  unused  brain-power  there 
which  God  never  gave  to  you  or  me.  Look  at  the  hunger,  the 
vacuity,  the  animal  passion,  which  has  taken  its  place.  Why,  the 
man  was  born  with  the  ambition,  and,  most  likely,  the  blood  of  the 
best  of  their  Southern  families  in  his  veins,  and  to  satisfy  it,  he  has 
had  for  work  a  stable  to  clean  for  forty  years,  and  for  his  highest 
pleasure  an  extra  dish  of  something  to  eat.  The  play's  nearly  over 
for  him  now;  he  is  wifeless,  homeless,  with  neither  a  name  nor 
a  country  to  call  his  own.  Just  Nathan,  nothing  more.  It  is  late 
in  the  day  to  bring  him,  and  the  gray-haired  thousands  like  him, 
1  their  chance.' " 

Nathan  stood  up,  unbuttoning  his  'waistcoat  as  if  for  breath. 
"Do  you  think  it's  too  late,  suh?" 

"  Do  you  ?  "  keenly. 

The  man  turned,  looking  out  through  the  mist  and  rain  toward 
the  house  where  was  his  master.  It  was  as  if  all  the  weight  laid' 
on  his  brain  and  soul  during  his  own  long  life,  all  the  apathy  which 
had  descended  to  him  from  three  generations  gone  before  of  hope 
less  servitude,  pressed  on  him  with  that  back-turned  look.  It  was 
too  late ;  the  old  gnawing  hunger  to  know,  to  be,  which  had  tor 
tured  his  earlier  manhood,  annoyed,  irritated  him  now.  There  were 
but  a  few  more  years  to  tote  the  weary  load.  Why,  if  he  could 
reach  the  North,  should  he  not  be  content  to  sit  down  and  eat 
white  bread,  drink  whiskey  and  take  his  fill  of  ease  every  day  ? 
He  had  come  to  regard  these  things  as  pleasant.  He  could  wear 
finer  clothes  than  Major  Bob— why  not  be  satisfied  with  these? 

He  stepped  forward,  leaning  with  his  knuckles  on  the  foot  of  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  165 

bed,  the  veins  in  his  bony  neck  swollen,  gray  shadows  on  his  thin 
face. 

"I  reckon  it's  too  late,  suh,"  he  said.  "I  don't  know  as  the 
jjhance  ud  make  anything  now  but  a  brute  of  me.  It  might  hev 
been  different  once,"  and  then,  picking  up  a  water-pail,  he  went  out 
abruptly  into  the  rain. 

"  It's  a  damned  shame,"  said  Joe,  thoughtfully,  stubbing  his  finger 
jito  his  pipe.  But  Markle's  little  bearded  face  was  staring  fiercely 
it  the  floor  over  the  edge  of  the  pallet,  and  he  made  no  answer. 

"  Somehow,  it  ain't  clear  to  me  how  it's  to  be  bettered,"  with  a 
ponderous  sigh.  "  Ef  they  want  to  be  free,  all  right.  But  as  for 
bein'  equal  to  us  white  folks,  that  goes  agin  my  grain.  Why, 
they're  niggers.  Ye  can't  go  back  o'  that.  Niggers,"  taking  off 
his  white  felt  hat  and  laying  it  solemnly  down  between  his  knees 
like  an  argument  closed. 

"Burley,"  said  the  lieutenant,  drawing  himself  up  on  the  bed 
with  a  long  breath,  "  how  far  off  is  Garfield  ?  I  can't  lie  stifling 
here  any  longer.  What  if  we  made  the  first  break  in  the  journey 
to-night  ?  " 

"  Well,  Leftenant,  I'm  willin'.  But  about  that  ar  leg  ?  An'  how 
are  we  to  cross  the  country?  You  ken't  pass  for  another  mule 
raiser.  Seems  to  me  as  if  we  wos  shut  up  here  like  rats  in  a  hole. " 

Markle  struggled  up  until  he  sat  upright.  "  If  I  only  knew  where 
we  were  ?  "  he  said,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  ther's  no  troops  nigh  us.  All  we've  got  to  fear  in  this 
vally  is  the  outlyin'  bushwhackers  an'  the  natives ;  but  it  might  be 
old  John  Bunyan's  vally,  for  that  matter,  with  them ;  they're  equal 
to  any  of  Apollyon's  quags  and  pits,  and  gins.  Fact  is,"  cleaning 
his  pipe  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket,  "  bein'  there's  two  of  us,  we're 
in  a  trap  that  it  passes  my  gumpshion  to  get  out  of.  I'll  kerry 
you  pick-a-back,  Leftenant,  but  you'll  have  to  do  the  head  work.'1 

"  There  are  three  of  us." 

"Nat?" 
•     "  That  is  my  plan  for  him." 

Nathan,  who  had  come  in  while  they  talked,  and  was  stooping 
over  the  fire,  turned  at  this,  and  came  to  the  foot  of  the  pallet.  "  I 
tank  you,  marster,"  he  said,  enunciating  the  syllables  slowly.  "  Ef 
you  help  me  to  my  freedom  I'll — I'll  do  my  best,"  putting  his  hand 
on  his  bald  crown  and  letting  it  rest  there. 

"You  saved  my  life,  comrade,"  said  Markle,  cheerily.  "I'd 
hardly  fling  you  off  like  a  crutch  that  I  had  broken." 

"  No,  suh,  you'd  not.  But  dere's  one  fact,"  stooping  over  and 
lowering  his  voice,  "  which  this  gentlem  is  wrong  in,  if  he'll  allow 
me.  Dare's  troops  closen  in  on  us  dis  bery  night  on  both  sides ;  de 
blues  on  one,  and  de  grays  on  de  oder." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  Joe. 


166  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  De  slaves  round  hyur  come  to  me  at  nights ;  dey's  impatient  to 
git  me  off,  see  ?  Dey  always  knows,  whisperin'  de  news  one  to 
anoder." 

Joe  was  disposed  to  challenge  him  further,  but  Markle  leaned  for 
ward  eagerly.  "  Where  are  Humphrey  Marshall's  men  ?  " 

"  I'll  show  you,  suh,"  with  a  prompt,  business-like  air  that  he  had 
not  shown  before,  picking  up  a  bit  of  coal  from  the  hearth  and  rap 
idly  drawing  a  rough  map  of  the  country  on  the  wall.  "  Hyur's 
Middle  Creek,  which  runs  jes  outside  this  gully,  an'  hyur's  Preston- 
burg,  on  its  banks ;  you  kin  see  the  smoke  from  it  on  a  clear  day 
jes  beyond  dat  hill,"  pointing  out  of  the  door.  "  M's  Humphrey 
Marshall's  encamped  between  us  an'  Prestonburg;  his  tents  is  hud 
dled  in  between  two  mountains." 

"  How  far  from  us  ?  "  said  Markle. 

"  'Bout  a  mile  an'  a  half,  suh.  We  are  a'most  widin  his  picket 
lines." 

Markle  looked  at  Joe.     "  You  did  not  tell  me  this,  Nathan  ?  " 

"  Why  shud  I  trubble  you,  to  no  use,  suh  ?  I  was  layin'  plans 
for  'scape.  I  wasn't  idle  one  minit,  marster.  Ten  miles  below  us, 
on  Middle  Creek,  is  Cunnel  Garfield's  forces — " 

"  Garfield  !  I  left  him  three  days  ago.  He  had  no  thought  of 
moving,"  interrupted  Burley,  angrily. 

"  It  is  two  days  since  he  took  up  dat  place  on  Middle  Creek," 
said  Nathan,  scoring  the  spot  energetically  with  his  coal. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  sound  in  the  shed  but  the  drop 
ping  of  the  rain  without.  "  Ef  that  ther's  true,"  said  Joe,  half 
under  his  breath,  "  ther's  no  chance  for  us.  For  three  men  to  cross 
this  country  onbeknown,  with  Marshall's  cavalry  gallopin'  hither 
and  yon  like  devils,  is  a  sheer  onpossibility.  I've  said  my  say/' 

"  What  was  your  plan,  Nathan  ? "  Markle  said,  forcing  his  leg 
down  on  the  floor  to  test  its  strength. 

"  De  plan  I  an'  my  people  hyur  about  thought  on,  suh,  was  not 
to  cross  de  country,  but  go  by  water.  One  of  Cunnel  Wilder's 
men,  suh,  '11  bring  a  skiff  under  de  rocks  t'  de  end  of  de  gully,  to 
night,  'n  our  chance  is,  ef  't  holds  dark,  t'  drop  down  before  morn- 
in',  keepin'  in  shore." 

"  And  a  very  good  chance  it  is !  "  said  Markle,  heartily.  "  Hurra 
for  the  old  tent  again  !  Give  me  my  coat  and  shoes,  Nat,"  begin 
ning  to  whistle  as  he  tried  to  work  them  on. 

*'  What  hour  had  we  better  set  out  ?  "  asked  Burley. 

"  Not  before  midnight,  M's.  De  moon  rises  about  then.  We'll 
have  plenty  of  time  to  row  down  before  dawn."  The  mulatto  was 
silent  after  that,  stood  drawing  uncertain  lines  over  the  wall,  look 
ing  back  furtively,  now  and  then,  at  the  two  white  men. 

"  What  is  it,  Nat  ?  "  Markle  asked,  at  last,  kindly. 

Nathan  came  hastily  toward  them,  then  stopped  short,  passing 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  167 

his  hand  over  his  thin  jaws ;  the  words  choking  in  his  mouth  twice 
as  he  tried  to  utter  them.  "  Ef  we  reach  de  Guverment  camp — 
will  I  be  free  den,  suh  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  God  willin',  you'll  be  a  free  man  before  mornin',  Nat,"  growled 
out  Joe,  looking  after  him  with  compassionate  eyes  as  he  went  into 
the  outer  room,  taking,  as  was  his  wont,  his  joy  or  his  pain  away 
into  some  solitary  corner. 

"Are  you  willing  to  trust  Nathan  and  his  plan?"  asked  Mar- 
kle,  anxiously.  "  I  have  no  right  to  venture  your  life  on  my  faith 
in  him." 

"  Nat's  all  right,"  said  Joe,  with  the  cough  of  a  judge.  "  I've 
had  a  long  'xperience  of  them  niggers.  They're  very  good  at 
fancy  lyin',  but  they're  1'yal  at  heart,  provided  you  treat  em  as 
men." 

The  day  passed  slowly:  the  rain,  fortunately,  growing  heavier. 
The  white  men  remained  in  the  back  room  of  the  shed,  Joe  telling 
long  stories  belonging  to  his  wagoning  days,  and  Markle  laughing 
and  dozing  over  them.  But  the  bald-headed  little  man,  who  had  a 
stake  in  the  day  greater  than  life  or  death,  went  about  with  a 
pinched,  contracted  face,  his  motions  as  unsteady  as  if  he  had  been 
drinking.  He  kept  the  outer  door  ajar,  to  confirm  the  uninhabited 
appearance  of  the  shed,  and  stood  behind  it,  looking  through  a 
knot  hole  down  the  road.  Once  or  twice  Markle  hobbled  in  to  speak 
a  cheery  word  to  him.  The  last  time,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Nathan 
looked  up  at  him  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  Dem  rain-drops  is  tollin' 
off  de  hours,  suh;  dey'll  be  down  to  minutes  soon." 

"  You  have  looked  forward  to  freedom  a  long  while  ? "  Markle 
said,  putting  his  hand  on  the  man's  shoulder. 

"  Since  I  was  a  boy,  suh.     Most  of  us  do  dat." 

"  Was  Strebling  so  hard  a  master?  " 

"  He  wur  a  very  good  marster ;  dar  wur  enuff  to  eat  an'  to  wear ; 
this  is  an  old  suit  of  Maje  Bob's  I've  got  on  now.  We  old  men 
never  wur  lashed  by  ole  M's,  dough  it  wur  defferent  wid  M's  Bob ; 
he  laid  it  on  heavy  when  he  wur  out  o'  sorts.  But  I've  no  com 
plaint  to  make  of  de  ole  plantation.  Mebbe  I'll  fare  worse  in  de 
Norf,  in  de  way  ob  eatin'  or  clo's — I  dunno." 

"  Why,  then—" 

"  It's  de  chance  !  "  he  broke  in,  with  a  husky  whisper.  "  Gor  a 
mighty  !  it's  de  chance  !  "  The  peculiar  feature  in  this  man  which 
had  interested  Markle  was,  that,  as  his  secret  self  became  visible, 
he  grew  quieter,  his  intonations  slow,  his  manner  grave.  There 
was  the  magnetism  in  him  of  repressed  force :  power  of  which  he 
himself  was  scarcely  cognizant ;  he  impressed  the  lieutenant  curi 
ously,  as  no  other  man,  white  or  black,  had  ever  done. 

"  The  chance  to  be,  what  ?  "  he  said,  probing  him. 


168  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Nathan  looked  steadily  out  into  the  falling  rain.  "  Sometimes  I 
tink  nothin'  but  dis  brute  dat  I  am,"  passing  his  hand  with  a  swift 
motion  over  his  face.  "  Other  times  " — and  then  was  silent.  Mar- 
kle  stood  by  with  a  sense  of  powerlessness  new  to  him.  His  life 
long,  he  had  worked  with  or  fought  his  equals :  a  boy,  or  at  col 
lege,  or  in  camp,  life  had  been  but  a  gay,  eager  keeping-step  with 
comrades ;  but  here  was  a  call  for  strength  outside  of  his  world : 
a  man  sinking  into  a  slough  which  would  be  death  to  body  and 
soul,  and  he  inefficient  on  the  brink. 

"  Ther's  bin.  times  dar  in  de  stable,"  said  Nathan,  in  his  even, 
controlled  voice,  "  when  I've  bin  groomin'  de  horses,  or  polishin' 
de  harness,  an'  tinkin',  tinkin',  of  my  people,  downtrodden,  wTid  de 
feet  ob  all  nations  on  dem,  and  of  de  good  Lord  Jesus  up  yonder, 
with  his  hands  stretched  out  to  loosen  de  bands  of  de  captive  and 
let  de  oppressed  go  free,  and  of  de  hard  faces  of  de  white  men  dat 
stand  between  Him  an'  us,  till  dere  wur  a  cry  'ud  come  into  my 
heart  which  de  good  God  himself  would  have  stopped  to  hear." 

"What  cry?" 

The  man's  eyes  turned  on  him  with  the  unutterable  need  of  one 
drowning  in  sight  of  land.  "  How  kin  I  say  ?  Suh,  I'm  dumb. 
I've  no  words  but  dem  of  de  stable  or  de  kitchen." 

Markle  did  not  answer,  turned  his  head,  and  looked  out  into  the 
sobbing  rain  to  avoid  the  wistful  eyes  of  the  old  man,  which  were 
growing  full  of  tears  as  they  followed  his  face.  "  Suh,  we've  bin 
kept  ign'rant  so  dat  we  might  be  dumb.  We  can't  speak  words 
dat  de  white  folks  'ud  listen  to.  We  can't  write  'em.  If  you 
wrote  'Nathan'  dar  on  de  wall,  I  wouldn't  know  it.  How  kin  we 
stan'  up  and  tell  dis  great  nation  de  meanin'  of  the  cry  in  our 
hearts  ?  How  dat  we  wants  de  chance  to  use  de  souls  dat  de  good 
Lord  gived  us  ?  How  dat  we's  tired  of  bein'  counted  as  beasts, 
wid  no  better  work  or  pleasure  dan  beasts  ?  De  white  folks'  hearts 
must  teach  'em  what  we  wants.  We'se  not  got  de  words." 

"  As  for  slavery,  that's  dead,"  said  Markle,  emphatically.  "  That 
first  gun  at  Sumter  sounded  its  knell,  thank  God !  Fremont  has 
recognized  that  truth." 

"I  tink  dat's  true,  suh,"  slowly.  "Mos*  of  our  people  tink 
slavery's  nigh  done ;  dey's  quick  to  b'leave  dat ;  dey's  looked  for 
deliv'rance  so  long.  But  dat's  on'y  de  beginnin'.  Dat  was  a  great 
wrong  de  white  folks  did  to  us.  How's  dey  goin'  to  make  it  up  to 
us?" 

"  I — I  don't  know,  uncle.  It  will  come  in  good  time,"  hesitated 
Markle.  "  I  don't  think  it  has  occupied  public  attention  in  the 
North.  The  truth  is,  there's  a  prejudice  against  your  color  up 
there." 

"In  de  Norf?  I  tought  dey  wur  all  friends — dar,"  suddenly 
turning  toward  the  northern  sky  line,  the  blankness  of  douVt 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  169 

coming  into  his  face.  "Praps  dem  of  my  color  dat  goes  dar  is 
onusual  wicked,  suh,  'longside  of  de  whites  as  has  had  schools  and 
dere  freedom  always  ?  " 

"  No,  not  worse  than  the  lower  class  of  whites,"  said  Markle, 
uneasily.  "We'd  better  not  talk  about  this  matter  any  longer, 
uncle.  It's  the  color,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  suh.  I'se  been  detainin'  you  too  long,"  humbly.  "  But 
if  you'll  allow  me,  I'll  jes  say  I  can't  believe  dat.  You's  but  a 
young  man,  an'  I  tink  you's  mistaken.  What's  de  color  got  to  do  ? 
I  see  a  man  once  who'd  been  bedridden  dese  many  years.  For  de 
want  of  use,  his  legs  wur  growed  thin  an'  totterin'  like  a  baby's; 
he  stuttered  when  he  talked ;  his  mind  wur  nigh  gone  ;  he  wur 
brought  near  to  de  borders  of  de  grave,  an'  lef'  dar.  I  tink  de  men 
an'  women  of  de  Norf  ud  jine  hands  to  help  a  missebul  wretch  like 
dat.  I  tink  dey's  had  freedom  dar  in  plenty,  an'  schoolin',  an'  easy 
livin'.  Dey's  glad  to  help  the  poor  an'  weak  to  it." 

"Well,  Nathan?" 

"  I  tought,  suh,"  laying  his  hand  on  his  stooped,  gray  head,  "  I'se 
like  dat  man — I  an'  my  people.  Would  dem  gentlmen  of  de 
Norf  hold  back  my  chance  from  me  an*  trample  me  under  foot — 
seem'  my  great  an'  utter  need — 'cause  of  de  color  of  my  skin  ? 
Suh,  I  can't  believe  it." 

"  If  we  reach  the  camp  to-night,"  said  Markle,  abruptly,  "  what 
are  you  going  to  do  then,  uncle  ?  " 

Nathan  did  not  reply  for  several  moments  ;  drew  out  his  gaudy, 
yellow  and  black  handkerchief,  and  passed  it  over  his  face,  of  which 
the  expression  varied  strangely. 

"  I  fancied,"  said  Markle,  gently,  "  that  you  had  some  secret  that 
concerned  you  more  nearly  than  even  your  escape  from  slavery.  I 
thought  I  might  be  able  to  help  you." 

"  Yes,  suh,"  slowly.  "  You  was  right.  Dar  is  a  matter — "  He 
waited  for  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  It  wur  my  intention  if  I 
reached  de  camp,  bein'  free  den,  to  go  roun'  by  de  ribber,  trough 
de  guverment  lines,  back  to  Alabama  agin."  He  stopped  suddenly. 

"  You  have  left  some  one  there  ?  "  ventured  Markle. 

"  Yes,  M's  Markle." 

"Your  wife?" 

"  No,  suh ;  Anny's  not  dat."  The  gray  pallor  crept  out  again 
over  his  yellow  face,  hardening  its  lines.  "  She  wur  a  house-su'vant 
of  Mist'  Larence's,  an'  Mist'  would'n'  hab  her  marry  me ;  but  I 
wur  true  to  her  all  de  same.  It  wur  twelve  years  I  use  to  go  over 
wunst  a  week  to  see .  her  Satu'day  night.  De  Larence  plantation 
wur  fourteen  miles  off." 

"  Does  she  know  you  are  coming  ? "  asked  Markle,  finding  that 
he  remained  silent. 

Nathan  wiped  his  lips,  which  had  grown  wrinkled  and  cold. 


170  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.       . 

"  No,  suh,  she  doesn't  know.  It's  four  year  now  since  I  see  her 
or  Tom.  Tom's  my  boy,  suh,"  with  an  involuntary  erection  of  nis 
whole  figure.  "  When  I  went  dar  one  Saturday  night,  expectin'  to 
find  dem  as  usual,  de  little  cabin  wur  shut  up  an'  empty,  an'  de 
mudder  an'  Tom  wur  sent  away.  No,  suh,  dey  wasn't  sold.  Mist' 
Larence's  sister,  Mrs.  Fairview,  had  swapped  a  coach-driver,  dough, 
agin  de  mudder.  It's  forty-five  mile  down  de  country.  I  couldn't 
walk  dat  an'  back  in  de  Saturday  night,  so  I  nebber  see  dem  since." 

"  Nor  heard  ?  " 

"  Me  nor  Anny  couldn't  write,  suh ;  but  Fairview's  Jake,  he's 
overseer,  he  wur  down  last  Spring's  a  year,  an'  he  told  me  dat  dey 
wur  livin'  an'  well.  He  said  Tom  wur  de  peartest  little  un  on  de 
Fairview  place.  I  b'leave  dat,  suh  !  He  fetched  me  a  handkercher 
from  Anny.  Her  mist'  gib  it  to  her  Christmas.  It  wur  white,  an' 
Anny  had  sewed  it  wid  red  thread  fur  me,  an'  dat  little  debbil  had 
blotted  it  wid  pokeberry  juice.  '  Dat's  my  name,'  he  said.  Jake 
he  kerned  it  in  his  bag  so's  de  blots  mightn't  git  washed  out  by 
accident.  I  took  it  berry  kind  in  Jake.  Dat  was  peart  in  Tom, 
suh,"  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  it  was.  So  you  are  going  round  by  water,"  thoughtfully. 
"  Our  troops  have  not  touched  on  Alabama  yet." 

"No,  suh?"  calmly.  "Dey  will  soon,  I  s'pose.  I  feel  it  as 
dough  de  Lord  said  dat  Anny  an'  me  ud  hev  a  home  togedder  yit, 
whar  I'll  not  see  her  jess  once  a  week  after  walkin'  fourteen  mile. 
An'  Tom — dar's  de  makin'  of  a  wunnerful  man  in  dat  boy,  suh  ! 
He's  got  de  handy  fingers  of  our  fam'ly,"  with  a  hesitating  glance 
at  the  young  man's  face.  Reading  encouragement  in  it,  the  little 
drop  of  vanity  leaked  out.  "  My  fader  learned  locksmithing 
heself,  suh,  he  wur  so  'xpert  wid  his  hands.  He  b'longed  to  de 
Randolphs  of  Kentucky.  He  wur  one  of  de  oncommonest  men  dar- 
about,  I  heerd  say." 

"  You  never  saw  him  ?  " 

"  Nebber  since  I  wur  a  boy.  His  wife,  she  b'longed  to  Mars' 
Strebling,  ye  see.  Dar  wur  de  two  of  us  chillen,  my  bradder  Sap 
an'  me.  Sap  wur  a  heap  younger  dan  me.  Ole  Mist'  Barby,  Mars' 
Jeems'  wife,  she  used  to  keep  Sap  about  de  house,  'count  of  his 
'xtraordinary  cuteness  in  makin'  little  tings  an'  usin'  tools.  He'd 
whittle  rings  an'  chains  fur  de  ladies  out  of  muscle-shells  an  gum 
copal,  Sap  would." 

Now  Markle  belonged  to  a  family  with  a  strong  instinct  of  blood 
kinship  for  each  other.  It  mattered  a  great  deal  to  him  whom  his 
commonplace  brothers  married.  It  would  have  cost  him  and  them 
a  bitter  pang  to  give  up  their  little  family  feast-days,  their  birth 
days  or  Christmas  gatherings,  or  to  sell  the  old  plat  of  ground 
which  they  had  beautified  as  best  they  could,  where  their  uncle  and 
grandfathers,  all  the  Markles,  indeed,  that  could  be  brought  there 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  171 

to  rest,  lay  buried.  It  touched  him  to  see  the  same  feeling  reflected 
in  the  old  mulatto  and  his  kin,  who  had  no  common  name  to  link 
them  together. 

"  You  must  be  near  your  father  now  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  real  interest 
which  brightened  old  Nathan's  face. 

"  No,  suh,"  doubtfully.  "  Kentucky's  a  moughty  big  place.  I'se 
not  heerd  frum  him  dese  thirty  year.  His  name  wur  Hugh.  When 
de  Mist'  Strebling  moved  to  Alabama,  an'  took  my  mudder  from 
him,  I  heerd  it  nigh  killed  de  ole  man.  He  wur  a  quiet,  tender 
hearted  man,  dey  say.  Ole  Mast'  Coyle  Randolph  use  to  visit  our 
place,  an'  he  could  easy  've  fetched  him  along ;  but  he  never  did. 
It  wurn't  kind  in  him.  I'd  tramp  all  over  Kentucky  ef  I  tought 
I'd  see  my  fader.  But  he's  dead  now  s'likely.  When  M.aje  Bob 
brought  me  up  to  camp  fur  groom,  I  axed  him  whar  wur  de  Ran 
dolph  place,  but  he  said  de  ole  man  wur  dead  long  ago." 

"  And  your  brother  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  'bout  Sap  ?  Dat  was  de  curousest  of  all.  M's 
Jeems,  he  took  Sap  Norf  wid  him  to  tend  some  horses  he  wur  goin' 
to  race,  an'  one  of  dem  people  dey  call  Friends — cause  dey's  friends 
to  us,  she  axes  de  loan  of  him  of  ole  M's,  to  try  what  could  be 
made  of  him.  Af 'erwards  she  sends  de  price  of  Sap  to  M's,  sayin' 
he  had  oncommon  skill  in  machinery.  Af 'erwards  she  sent  word 
he  was  dead.  Since  dat  we've  heerd  no  more.  But  dere's  been 
times  when  it  has  come  home  certain  to  me  dat  Sap  was  not  dead. 
I  tink  if  I  could  find  him  in  de  Norf,  an'  bring  Tom  an'  his  mudder 
to  him,  what  a  joyful  meetin'  dat  ud  be.  Ef  he  wur  libin',  an' 
Anny  an'  me  got  Norf,  d'ye  tink  we'd  likely  find  him,  suh  ?  " 

"  The  North  is  a  wide  place,  Nat." 

"  Yes,  bigger  dan  Kentucky,  I  reckon.  But,  tinkin'  it  over  so 
long,  it's  allers  been  borne  in  on  me  dat  we'd  all  meet  dar  some 
day." 

Burley  opened  the  inner  door,  and  Nathan  grew  suddenly  silent, 
knowing  by  instinct  that  he  was  to  Joe  not  a  man,  but  a  nigger. 
But  the  lonely,  quiet  old  fellow  had  a  new  hold  on  Markle,  now 
that  he  had  a  glimpse  of  the  solitary  years  dragged  out  in  the 
stable  loft,  polishing  harness,  and  making  plans  for  the  father,  and 
brother,  the  wife  and  son,  who  had  literally  been  more  like  dreams 
than  realities  in  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

NIGHT  began  to  fall.  With  the  increasing  cold  the  rain  froze  into 
A  fine,  sleety  mist,  which  drove  fiercely  into  the  open  door  of  the 
hut.  The  men  in  the  back  room  made  ready  for  departure,  carrying 


172  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

with  them  the  remaining  scraps  of  the  cold  meat  and  bread,  and  a 
canteen  full  of  whiskey.  Joe  and  the  mulatto  busied  themselves 
last  in  bandaging  Markle's  wounded  leg,  Burley  persisting  in  taking 
off  his  own  leggings  to  envelope  the  whole. 

"  I  wonder  which  on  us  three  '11  be  left  behind  ?  "  he  said  as  he 
rose  from  his  knees.  "  I  doubt  we'll  not  all  come  safe  out  of  this 
scrape.  I  had  a  feelin'  that  this  vally  was  onclean  and  onwholesome 
when  I  come  in  it,  as  if  ghosts,  from  some  murder  done,  walked 
here,  but  I  found  none.  I  judge  one  of  us  '11  be  the  sacrifice," 
looking  at  Markle  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh. 

"  I  should  hardly  call  any  death  in  time  of  warfare  unfair.  You 
and  I  gave  up  our  hold  on  life  when  we  went  into  this  matter,  Joe, 
and,  for  my  part,  I  blame  nobody  that  takes  it.  But,"  glancing  at 
Nathan  at  his  feet,  "in  peace — in  cold  blood,  with  the  name  of 
Christ  upon  the  lips,  to  sap  out  the  life  of  a  man,  that  is  what  I 
name  murder,"  vehemently.  "  To  leave  him  neither  citizenship, 
family,  woman's  virtue,  mind,  to  shut  out  God  from  him,  as  far  as 
in  them  lay !  I  think  this  country  is  filled  with  ghosts  of  murders 
done  !  I  hope  God  may  teach  the  North  how  to  lay  them." 

Burley  uttered  an  indistinct,  bewildered  growl.  Nathan  looked 
up,  at  first  quickly,  and  then,  unable  to  trace  the  young  man's 
meaning,  turned  indifferently  away,  raking  out  the  few  smouldering 
coals.  When  he  had  done  this  he  came  up  to  the  pallet  on  which 
Markle  sat,  and  stood  with  his  palms  together,  balancing  himself 
slowly  on  his  heels  and  toes. 

"  Well,  Nathan  ?  " 

"  We'se  nigh  ready  now,  suh.  Dar's  on'y  one  ting  dat  I  hab  not 
mentioned  afore.  I  tought  I'd  leave  you  now  ontil  de  time  arrived 
when  we  shell  go,  wid  God's  leave.  I  had  a  little  plan  of  my  own 
I'd  like  to  kerry  out." 

Joe  looked  round  at  him  suspiciously,  but  Markle  nodded  a  prompt 
assent,  asking  no  questions. 

"It's  dis  way,  suh,"  lowering  his  voice.  "You  said  dar  wur 
thousands  of  young  men  come  to  help  me  an'  my  kin  to  freedom. 
I  don't  want,  when  we  kum  into  camp,  dat  dey  call  us  lazy  niggers, 
not  wurf  de  freedom.  We'd  like  to  help  ourselves,  my  people 
would,  ef  we  knowed  de  way.  I  tought  I'd  like  when  I  goed  wid 
you  an'  M's,  hyur,  into  camp  to-morrow,  to  kerry  somefin'  as  ud 
make  'em  see  dat  we  knowed  all  you  gentlemens  of  de  Norf  hes 
done,  an'  dat  we  tanked  you  kindly  ?  "  touching  his  forehead. 

"  What  did  you  propose  to  do,  Nathan  ?  " 

"  I  hear  dat  Gunnel  Garfield  is  ig'rant  of  de  number  of  de  forces 
under  M's  Marshall,  hyur.  Dar's  a  company  of  cavalry  down  at 
Jennie's  Creek,  an'  dat  may  mislead  de  Gunnel  I  meant  to  take  dat 
information,  suh." 

"Can  you  get  it?" 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  173 

"  Yes,  suh.  Dai-'s  a  friend  of  mine,  wid  Maje  Bob's  hoises  by'm ; 
Gunnel  Wilder,  he's  been  over  in  jsamp,  an'  he  give  me  de  word  of 
honor  dat  I  shell  have  dat  information  to-night.  In  certain  num 
bers,  suh." 

"You  will  insure  yourself  a  welcome,  Nathan,"  said  Markle, 
heartily.  "  I  will  be  glad  if  you  can  do  it,  if  but  for  your  own  safte. 
It  will  be  of  use  to  you  hereafter."  He  looked  after  the  man  with 
a  kindly  smile.  It  amused  him  to  see  that,  with  his  hand  out 
stretched  toward  freedom,  he  had  no  thought,  like  Burley,  of  the 
chance  of  death  between.  His  yellow  face  was  lighted  with  nervous 
expectation.  He  laughed  in  a  shrill,  childish  treble  at  every  silly 
little  mishap  in  their  preparations,  in  a  way  which  Burley  thought 
half  idiotic.  "He  has  begun  to  taste  his  freedom,"  thought 
Markle.  "  De  mudderj"  and  the  home  they  would  find  together ; 
the  brother,  who  would  be  discovered  yonder  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  as  Joseph  was  of  his  brethren ;  the  old  man  who  had  been 
"  'xpert  with  his  fingers,"  and  who  would  come  to  die  among  them 
after  some  quiet,  patriarchal  years ;  most  of  all,  the  peart  little 
chap  who  would  take  to  schooling,  to  white  folks'  ways,  would  be 
a  lawyer,  doctor,  preacher,  but,  in  any  case,  stand  breast-high,  firm, 
and  in  the  front  rank  of  them  all.  These  things  were  realities  to 
Nathan.  They  had  bided  their  time,  and  long;  but  they  were 
coming.  A  white  man,  so  near  to  the  goal  after  forty  years'  delay, 
would  have  been  shaken  with  the  last  uncertain  breaths  in  soul 
and  body,  would  have  found  that  doubtful  pause  before  final 
certainty,  harder  to  live  through  than  all  of  his  hopeless  youth  and 
manhood.  But  to  Nathan  the  hope  was  certainty.  Pie  buttoned 
his  coat,  and  pulled  down  his  napless  beaver  hat  over  his  face,  pre 
paring  to  go  out  into  the  pitiless  night,  already  in  possession  of 
home,  freedom,  of  Anny  and  his  boy.  Yet  he  turned  back  again 
for  a  moment. 

"  De  skiff  '11  be  at  de  end  of  de  gully,  under  dat  dead  tree,  suh, 
jess  at  midnight.  I'll  hev  got  hyur  'fore  dat,  God  willin',  onless — " 

"  Unless  what  ?  " 

"I'se  gwine  to  Gunnel  Wilder's  fur  dat  information,  suh,  you 
know  ?  M's  Jeems  is  still  dar,  I  doubt,  an' — an' —  Ef  I  shudn't 
kum  back  by  midnight,  don't  wait  de  skiff,  suh." 

He  stopped  in  the  door,  looking  back  into  the  young  man's  face, 
some  unutterable  terror,  the  thought  of  all  that  he  turned  away 
from  in  this  venture,  the  chance  of  loss,  painted  in  his  discolored 
face  and  piercing  eyes.     For  a  moment  he  was  deaf  and  blind.  J 
Markle  spoke  to  him,  but  he  made  no  answer. 

"  Come  back  here,"  said  Joe.  "  Garfield's  got  scouts.  Let  'em 
do  their  work.  I've  a  mind  to  see  you  through  this  bout,  Nat,  an' 
ther's  no  sense  in  yer  goin'.to  put  yer  neck  under  halter  agin,  jest 
as  it's  nigh  out." 


174  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Nathan  laughed  nervously.  "  Bar's  use  in  my  earnin'  my  free 
dom,  suh.  But  I  ain't  afeard ;  I'll  kum  back ;  I'se  got  de  Lord  on 
my  side.  Good  night,  gennlemen,"  taking  off  the  beaver  hat  with 
the  little  flourish,  that  belonged  to  his  blood  as  much  as  the  elastic 
rebound  to  cheerfulness.  He  went  down  the  bank  into  the  road, 
the  dark  outline  of  his  figure  soon  lost  in  the  storm  and  night. 
Joe,  squatted  on  a  chunk  of  unhewn  log,  watched  him  go  and 
clapped  his  hands  emphatically,  first  on  one  knee  and  then  the 
other,  when  he  turned  to  Markle : 

"  Danged  ef  I  ain't  got  attached  to  that  Nat,  in  this  one  day ! 
I  spec  that  ther  information  might  gain  Garfield  the  day,  an'  root 
out  the  secesh  from  Eastern  Kentucky,  eh  ?  Well,  now,  d'ye  know, 
I'd  feel,  ef  that  fellar's  took  into  slavery  agin,  as  if  it.  had  been  dear 
bought  ?  Es-pecially  by  Strebling." 

He  was  silent,  his  stern  face  turned  to  the  ground. 

"  You  know  Nat's  master  ?  "  said  Markle,  with  surprise. 

Burley  nodded  his  solid  head  two  or  three  times,  with  a  pause 
between ;  the  motion  was  as  ponderous  as  another  man's  oath. 

Markle,  after  a  quick,  shrewd  scrutiny  of  the  old  man's  face,  kept 
silence.  The  sleet,  meanwhile,  beat  sharply  on  the  roof,  and  the 
ashes  caked  and  crumbled  at  their  feet  in  soft,  dusty  breaths. 

"It's  not,"  Joe's  hoarse  voice  broke  in  gustily,  "it's  not  alto 
gether  the  harm  he  did  me.  Mebbe  I  could  forgive  that.  But, 
ther's  somethin'  in  the  very  look  and  voice  of  Jeems  Strebling, 
even  in  his  gingerly  walk,  that  riles  all  the  black  drop  in  me.  He's 
mean,  he's  shaller ;  that  refinement  of  his'n  is  like  the  froth  on  that 
dirty  pool  outside  the  door.  Somehow,  when  he  comes  nigh  me, 
with  the  remembrance  of  that  old  hurt  beside,  it  is  as  if  the  devil 
was  stirrin'  all  the  murder  up  in  me.  I  ain't  myself  then.  I  ain't 
Joe  Burley,  somehow.  I've  got  lots  of  friends,  you  know,  Leftenant; 
lots  of  friends  in  camp ;  same  'way  at  home ;  but  when  I  see  that 
man,  't  seems  as  if  I  hadn't  one;  as  if  ther'  was  nobody  but  him 
an'  me,  and  I'd  got  now  to  crush  his  soul  out  of  his  mean,  little 
body.  Sometimes,  Leftenant,  I  get  afraid  of  the  end  of  it  ?  "  looking 
at  Markle,  with  a  weight  of  doubt  and  dread  in  his  heavy  eye. 

"  I  suppose,  Joe,"  cheerfully,  "  the  devil  takes  a  visible  shape  to 
most  of  us,  at  times.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  end  of  it  for  you. 
You  keep  the  Good  Man  nearer  than  any  man  I  know,  as  near  as  a 
woman.  He'll  be  there  when  the  time  comes." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  gravely.  "  But  I'd  rather  hev  a  little  warnin' 
before  comin'  across  that  man,  anyhow.  As  for  me,"  gathering 
himself  up  forcibly,  after  a  little  reflection,  "  as  for  me  lovin'  my 
neighbor  as  myself,  I'm  not  that  sort.  Ther's  men  I'm  willin'  to 
help,  the  more  because  I  hate  myself  for  hatin'  them.  But  the  back 
of  my  hand's  to  them,  an'  I'd  hev  to  turn  my  natur  inside  out 
before  I'd  get  that  hand  turned  to  grip  theirs  as  friends.  An' 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  175 

ther's  another  sham  lot "  (for  Joe's  tongue  was  fairly  loose  now, 
and  his  heart  opened)  "  that  I  don'J;  hate.  Only  when  they  come 
afore  me  with  their  mincing,  unnateral  ways,  an'  piping,  false  tones, 
I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  roar  and  curse  and  growl  out  all  the  bad  that's 
in  me,  jest  to  let  them  hear  a  nateral  voice.  Rossline's  jest  that 
way.  I've  seed  it  in  her  face,  when  I  had  it  in  my  mind.  Ross- 
line'-s  a  Burley — ther's  no  froth  in  her  natur." 

"  What  time,  Joe  ?  "  abruptly,  for  he  had  a  fancy  that  in  this  des 
ultory  talk,  they  were  walking  among  graves,  known  to  the  old 
man.  •  Burley  lugged  out  a  thick  silver  watch. 

"  Seven  o'clock.     Nathan  hes  five  hours  afore  him." 

They  fell  into  silence  after  that.  The  storm,  as  the  hours  neared 
midnight,  cleared  away,  and  a  watery,  gray  light,  a  prelude  to  the 
coming  moonlight,  thinned  and  softened  the  sky  up  from  the  hori 
zon.  The  distincter  light  made  them  more  cautious ;  they  spoke  in 
whispers ;  Joe  put  out  his  pipe ;  tried  to  smother  his  sneezes  and 
coughs,  which  broke  out,  perforce,  in  hoarse  bellows  now  and  then. 
From  the  background  of  the  room,  where  they  sat  in  shadow,  they 
could  look  down  into  the  open  stubble  field  below  the  hut,  and  see 
the  black  blot  that  marked  the  entrance  to  the  gully  between  the 
mountains.  The  shifting,  feeble  rays  of  the  moon  were  beginning 
to  loom  decisive ,  in  the  air ;  the  black  skeletons  of  the  trees  that 
lined  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and,  above  them,  its  blue-gray, 
slaty-face  rocks,  down  which  the  trickling  water  made  a  shining 
glimmer.  A  dead  silence  reigned,  save  when  the  plash  of  the  rain 
and  sleet,  falling  from  some  weighted  branch,  startled  them. 

"  Ther's  no  securer  hidin'  than  here,  till  time  for  the  skift,"  whis 
pered  Joe.  "  We'd  better  lay  low  till  midnight.  I  kin  kerry  you 
through  that  gully  in  a  few  minutes.  It's  likely  Nat  '11  be  at  t'other 
side,  waitin'  in  the  boat." 

Markle  nodded  gravely.  He  feared  that,  of  the  three  who  had 
kept  watch  that  day  in  the  hut,  but  two  would  be  taken,  and  the 
other  left.  He  had  a  depressing  conviction  which  he  could  not  shake 
off  that  Nat  and  his  people  were  born  to  an  heirship  of  hopeless 
ill-luck  and  disaster.  First,  slavery ;  and  then,  he  had  lately  been 
among  the  hordes  of  contrabands  crowding  over  into  Ohio  and 
Indiana.  They  were  mad  with  the  thirst  for  freedom.  Lincoln 
was  a  Messiah  to  them.  The  year  of  jubilee  had  come,  in  which, 
all  their  loss  and  wrongs  were  to  be  repaired  a  thousand  fold,  and 
at  once.  They  congregated  tumultuously  wherever  there  was  a 
Federal  camp,  expecting  to  find,  under  the  shelter  of  the  flag, 
clothes,  food,  and  little  work.  Bringing  into  this  promised  land 
only  their  rags  and  ignorance,  they  were  unconquerably  lazy,  and 
childishly  credulous  and  affectionate ;  the  Land  of  Promise  was  not 
ready  for  them;  small-pox  and  fever  had  broken  out  among  them, 
and  between  disease  and  wrant  they  were  dying  by  the  score 


176  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Nathan  belonged  to  the  more  self-reliant,  industrial  class  of  refu 
gees.  "  But  he'll  fare  no  better  than  the  others,"  thought  the  young 
officer,  "  even  if  he  escapes." 

He  sighed  as  he  tied  the  woollen  comforter  about  his  ears  which 
the  careful  old  fellow  had  hung  within  his  reach.  Men  capable  of 
this  dogged  loyalty  to  their  friends,  and  the  fierce  bravery  they 
showed  when  tested,  deserved  better  recognition  of  the  world. 
But  what  could  the  young  soldier  do  ?  Nat  was  but  one  of  a  great, 
inert,  miserable  mass.  Who  could  lift  it  ? 

"  What  is  it,  Leftenant?" 

"  Nothing.  I  was  only  thinking  that  poor  Nat's  dream  of  seeing 
c  de  mudder  and  Tom '  hold  the  place  which  any  white  man's  wife 
or  child  occupy,  is  likely  never  to  be  anything  but  a  dream.  No 
matter  what  power  or  culture  he  may  acquire,  tho  lowest  emigrant 
that  comes  to  our  shores  would  look  down  on  him." 

"Sartinly,  ef  he's  a  nigger,"  said  Joe,  composedly.  "A  fellar 
draws  a  blank  in  the  world  ef  he  hes  a  black  skin,  and  he  ken't 
make  a  prize  out  of  it,  nohow." 

"  I  think  I'd  try,"  said  the  young  white  man,  quietly  laying  one 
hand  slowly  on  the  other,  his  face  a  shade  paler. 

Burley  made  no  answer,  and  again  the  hut  and  dreary  fields 
without  waited  in  silence,  while  the  wintry  moonlight  whitened 
over  the  sky,  and  drew  upon  the  wet  mountain  sides  and  valley 
below,  troops  of  motionless,  unfamiliar  shadows. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   LOST   CHANCE. 

THE  room  into  which  Nathan  looked  was  filled  with  men  who 
had  drawn,  according  to  Joe,  blanks  in  life.  They  were,  however, 
apparently  contented  with  their  luck,  which  was  the  worst  sign  of 
its  worthlessness.  It  was  one  of  the  cabins  of  the  Wilder  quarters ; 
a  comfortable  cabin  belonging  to  Aunt  Phebe,  the  cook.  The 
colonel  had  a  great  supper  that  night,  and  two  or  three  covered  tin 
pails  had  been  brought  out  the  back  way.  There  were  turkey 
bones,  cranberry  pie,  chunks  of  white  bread  dipped  in  gravy. 
There  was  a  big  fire  at  which  they  sat  roasting  first  their  faces  and 
then  their  backs.  There  were  horrible,  relishing  scraps  of  news 
about  the  battles  which  Phebe  had  caught  at  the  dining-room  door. 
There  was  old  Mussy  with  his  fiddle ;  there  were  Ben  and  Joe  with 
their  jokes  which  made  even  old  Uncle  Pike  grin  against  his  will. 
What  better  than  this  could  they  have  ?  Colonel  Wilder,  out  of 
sheer  kindness  of  heart,  gilded  the  blank  until  it  seemed  very  like 
a  prize.  However,  they  stopped  eating  to  listen  to  the  bits  of 
gossip.  Of  turkey  and  pie  they  knew  the  taste,  but  this  expecta 
tion  and  mystery  were  new  in  flavor.  Their  masters  might  shut 
out  their  possible  future  far  from  them  as  they  would,  but  when  the 
bugle  began  to  sound  among  the  lines  of  tents  up  on  "  Mars  Tho- 
burn's  meddar;"  when  Ben  and  Joe  themselves  dug  a  grave  for 
the  Virginia  captain  picked  off  by  a  sharpshooter  by  the  ford,  these 
were  miracles  which  portended  a  new  order  of  things ;  and  the 
name  "  abolition  war  "  brought  the  meaning  of  the  miracles  directly 
under  the  comprehension  of  every  one  of  them. 

"Pears  to  me,"  said  Mussy,  looking  over  his  fiddle,  "as  if  dat 
bugle  wur  de  clarion  ob  de  Lord.  De  light's  dawnin'.  De  time's 
come  when  de  da'ater  ob  my  people  'ill  arise  an'  bress  God  wid 
satisfaction  ob  heart." 

"  Pears  to  me,  then,  that  you're  a  fool,"  said  a  pert  mulatto  boy 
in  the  door,  who,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  young  Wilder's,  was  looking 
down  superciliously  on  the  room  and  its  inmates.  "They  only 
want  to  get  us  North  to  sell  us  agin.  Will  any  of  the  dam  Yankees 
give  me  clothes  like  these,  or  Miss  Clarindy  her  ear-bobs  ?  "  pulling 
at  a  pair  of  gold  drops,  which  dangled  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 

The  old  man  turned  his  owl-like  face,  with  its  round  spectacles, 
12 


178  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

on  the  dapper  little  fellow.  "Dat  talk's  no  better  dan  cracklin'  oo 
thorns  under  de  pot,"  he  growled.  "  God  forbid  as  I'd  leab  M's 
George,  as  he's  bin  like  a  son  to  me.  But  I'm  no  hyp'crit.  I'se 
work  for  him  free  better  dan  slave,  an'  I  tell  hisself  so,  of 'en.  'S 
fur  you,  Jim,  you'se  bin  spiled  into  a  no-account  nigger ! " 

Jim  laughed,  looking  keenly  around  the  shed  meanwhile,  until 
his  eye  fell  on  a  crack  in  the  weather-boarding,  through  which  a 
pair  of  eyes  shone  in  the  darkness.  "  Good-by  to  you  all,"  turn 
ing  quickly.  "  Good  evenin',  Miss  Clarindy,"  strutting  out  with  his 
hands  in  his  waistcoat  pockets.  Two  or  three  shouts  followed  him, 
which  Mussy  drowned  out  with  vigorous  scrapings  of  the  last  polka. 

Outside,  Jim,  after  closing  the  door,  crept  round  the  shed,  and 
found,  as  he  expected,  a  dark  figure  silently  climbing  down  from 
the  burrow  under  the  chimney  of  another  and  lower  hut.  When 
they  were  standing  side  by  side  on  the  road,  Nathan  drew  the  boy 
deeper  under  the  shadow.  He  held  him  by  the  coat-flap,  glancing, 
as  he  spoke,  from  side  to  side,  stopping  short  and  trembling  at 
the  snapping  of  a  twig,  or  a  sudden  pause  in  the  noise  inside. 

"  Wher  um  yer  fadder,  Jim  ?  It's  done  struck  eleven — I've  got 
but  one  hour  more.  I  bin  a  skulkin'  hyur  since  dark,  an'  every 
step's  't  de  risk  ob  life." 

"He's  got  you  that  information,"  said  the  boy  in  a  sharp,  decisive 
voice,  curiously  different  from  that  which  he  had  used  to  the  negroes. 
"  He  ken't  git  away  from  Mars  George  out  of  the  dinin'-room :  at 
the  last  minute  he  sent  me.  Hyur's  the  numbers,  in  black  and 
white,"  giving  him  a  greasy  slip  of  paper. 

Nathan  drew  a  heavy  breath  as  he  took  it.  "  I  didn't  like  to 
go  empty-handed,  ye  see,  Jim  ?  "  putting  it  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"No?"  the  boy's  grave  eyes  fixed  speculatively  on  the  nervous, 
distorted  face. 

"  Say,  Jim,  you'd  better  come  along,"  whispered  Nathan,  wet 
ting  his  parched  lips  with  his  tongue.  "Dar's  a  mighty  good 
chance  for  boys  like  you  in  de  Norf." 

"  No,"  promptly.  "  Though  I  thought  of  that.  They  ken't  fool 
me  with  ther'  lies  agen  the  Yankees.  But  they  say  we'll  all  be 
free  hyur,  an'  if  things  go  on  as  they've  begun,  Mars  George  '11 
be  poor  enuff  'fore  long.  I  think  I'll  stay  an'  see  it  through. 
He's  been  moughty  kind  to  me." 

"  I  thought  by  the  way  you  talked  to  Mussy,  you  didn't  keer  fur 
freedom,"  hesitated  Nathan. 

"  Mussy's  a  leaky  old  fool.  Ken't  a  man  keep  his  mind  to  his- 
self?" 

"  Yes.  I'll  go  now,  and  tank  you,  kindly,  Jim,"  holding  out  his 
hand,  in  which  he  had  doubtfully  secreted  a  quarter  of  a  dollar. 

Jim  put  it  back  loftily.  "  I've  spendin'-money  enuff.  Mars  George 
s'plies  me.  Going  on  foot  ?  " 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  179 

**  Praps,"  cautiously. 

"  Good-bye,  then,  uncle.  I  wish  yer  good  luck  up  Norf,  dar," 
with  a  hesitating,  earnest  look.  "  But  I'll  fight  it  out  long  of  Mass 
George,  reckon.  You'd  better  keep  wide  of  the  gap  down  to  the 
creek,"  carelessly,  as  he  was  turning  away. 

"What  y' mean,  Jim?" 

"Mass  Strebling  an'  Major  Bob,  and  two  or  three  more,  rode 
down  that  way  late  this  evenin'.  I  heard  them  say  they  was  goin' 
to  Fisher's  Gap." 

Nathan  stood  motionless,  allowing  the  boy  to  pass  him,  going  into 
the  path  to  the  house.  For  one  moment,  sudden  terror  confused 
his  brain ;  then  thought  came,  quick  and  sharp.  If  they  had  ridden 
to  the  gap,  it  was  in  search  of  him.  It  was  no  night  to  be  out 
riding  for  pleasure.  It  might  be  that  the  man  who  was  to  have 
brought  the  skiff  had  played  them  false ;  but  at  the  second  thought 
he  put  that  possibility  angrily  away ;  perhaps  the  smoke  had  been 
observed  of  their  fire,  or  their  voices  heard.  But,  however  they 
had  been  betrayed,  there  was  yet  time  for  him  to  escape,  by  going 
on  foot  across  the  mountains,  and  leaving  Markle  and  Joe  to  their 
fate.  What  that  would  be,  he  had  little  doubt,  if  they  were  ar 
rested  by  Major  Strebling  as  spies.  The  clock,  as  he  cautiously 
crept  by  the  house,  struck  eleven;  he  walked  with  laggard, 
heavy  feet  out  of  sight  of  the  house  into  the  shelter  of  a  thick 
woods,  from  which  he  could  look  straight  across  the  sweep  of 
meadows  and  winding,  sluggish  water  courses  to  the  two  moun 
tain  peaks,  between  which  the  gully  lay  like  a  black  blotch.  He 
had  an  hour ;  if  his  master  had  meant  to  go  to  the  gap,  it  must 
have  been  only  after  beating  the  country  round ;  there  was  no  direct 
bridle-road ;  he  might  yet  have  time  to  warn  them  before  Streb 
ling  came. 

He  started  forward,  walked  a  few  steps,  and  then  stopped,  lifting 
his  hat  off  mechanically,  and  passing  his  hand  over  his  bald  crown 
again  and  again.  There  was  every  chance  that  he  was  too  late : 
that  the  Streblings  had  secured  the  men,  and  were  lying  in  wait  for 
him.  If  he  walked  into  that  open  trap,  there  was  nothing  beyond 
but  slavery.  He  stood  irresolute,  the  thumpings  of  his  heart  under 
the  tawdry  old  waistcoat  checking  off  the  moments;  turned  the 
napless  hat  about,  smoothing  it  with  his  sleeve,  with  quick,  furtive 
glances  at  the  road  which  led  to  the  mountains  and  freedom,  and 
at  the  slope  down  to  the  gully.  Then  he  drew  one  or  two  long, 
ineffectual  breaths;  his  throat  seemed  tightening,  choking  him. 
He  was  near  to  the  goal — near !  The  mother  an'  Tom,  the  brother 
he  was  to  find ;  it  all  seemed  like  a  dream  now,  dim,  receding. 

But  the  comrades  yonder  in  the  gap  whom  he  had  left  a  few 
hours  before — they  were  reality ;  he  had  his  ration  of  bread  and 
pork  in  his  pocket  now,  as  Markle  had  divided  it,  laughing  and 


180  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

promising  him  as  good  a  meal  as  he  ever  ate  when  they  came  to 
Dubuque,  some  day.  Major  Bob  would  shoot  down  that  little  man 
like  a  dog  on  suspicion  of  being  a  spy ! 

He  pulled  on  the  hat  again,  and  turning  to  the  gully,  ran  swiftly 
down  the  slope  toward  it,  leaving  his  chance  behind.  Nor,  as  he 
went,  had  he  any  back-looking  regrets  or  pang  for  what  he  had 
given  up ;  he  had  not  coolly  weighed  one  course  and  its  results 
against  the  other.  He  went  to  help  them,  running  into  the  jaws 
of  his  old  slavery  because  he  was  a  negro,  and  took  care  of  the 
present  moment,  and  let  the  future  take  care  of  itself;  besides,  he 
was  certain,  without  reason,  that  when  Markle  and  Joe  were  safe, 
he  and  the  wife  and  boy  would  find  the  good  home  waiting  and 
ready  for  them  in  the  North ;  because  he  was  a  man,  and  with  every 
step  he  took  toward  the  men  who  were  in  peril,  that  fever  of  cour 
age  grew  on  him  and  possessed  him  which  drives  the  soldier  into 
battle  with  a  shout,  who  would  have  whined  and  trembled  before  a 
lingering  sickness. 

He  felt  his  bones  grow  supple,  and  the  blood  throb  hotly  as  he 
leaped  over  fences,  climbed  down  the  rocks,  and  waded  through  the 
icy  creek. 

"  I'se  bound  to  get  dar  in  time,"  he  muttered  breathlessly.  "  De 
Lord's  on  my  side." 

He  broke  down  soon,  and  was  forced  to  walk  slower,  panting,  to 
recover  his  strength.  He  was  the  more  tired  because  he  could 
neither  sing  nor  whistle.  He  crept  stealthily  through  one  or  two 
negro  quarters  on  his  way,  for  the  land  is  broken  up  into  small 
farms  here.  But  the  huts  and  farm-house  alike  were  wrapped  in 
sleep.  At  last  he  reached  the  creek ;  before  he  had  gone  through 
more  than  one  field  opening  on  the  muddy  bank,  he  heard  a  man's 
step  coming  toward  him,  making  a  weak  effort  to  tread  lightly  on 
the  crackling  stubble.  Nathan  dropped  behind  a  thicket  of  scrub 
oaks.  The  moonlight  fell  full  on  the  figure  of  the  intruder,  a 
shambling,  over-sized  mulatto,  with  skin  of  a  muddy,  sickly  white. 

Nathan,  seeing  him,  came  out  boldly.     "  You  dar,  Steve  ?  " 

The  fellow  threw  out  one  hand  to  keep  him  off.  "  Now,  fur  de 
lub  of  God,  let  me  go.  I'se  out  widout  a  pass;  you  knows  dat. 
I'se  done  my  sheer." 

" Is  de  skiff  dar?" 

"  Yes,  it's  dar,"  in  a  shrill,  terrified  whisper.  "  I  fetched  it  down 
below  de  gully.  Ole  mars  is  scourin'  de  country  like  de  debbil." 

" Is  he  by  de  gully?" 

"  Praps  dey  is  by  dis  time ;  Major  Bob  an'  some  o'  dera  sojers 
dey  'long.  Thoburn's  overseer,  he  fotched  word  dat  you  an'  a 
white  man  wur  hid  along  de  creek,  and  M'ars,  he  tought  you 
mought  be  in  de  gully,  or  so  high  as  de  mill.  Dey  went  fust  to  de 
mill." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  181 

Nat  stayed  for  no  parting  words,  but  broke  into  the  thicket  .oj 
again,  with  a  new  chill  creeping  through  his  veins.  If  he  had  been  f 
arrested  in  an  effort  to  escape,  he  would  have  dreaded  nothing 
worse  than  a  lashing ;  but  to  be  found  in  company  with  a  Yankee 
spy  was  another  matter.  But  his  blood  was  up  now,  and  he  pushed  d'v 
on  resolutely.  The  moonlight  was  clear,  differing  from  day  only 
in  its  spectral  whiteness.  The  yielding  mud  of  the  fields,  that  had 
clogged  his  feet,  began  to  harden  in  the  freezing  air,  forming  a 
3rust  that  broke  crisply  as  he  tramped  on  it.  His  road  led  him  along 
the  shore  of  the  creek.  When  the  gully  lay  but  half  a  mile  in 
advance,  he  stopped  to  consider.  On  his  right  hand  was  the  broad, 
creeping  stream ;  in  front  rose  the  mountain,  on  the  far  side  of  which 
opened  the  gap.  But  on  his  left  hand,  before  he  reached  the  moun 
tain,  was  a  long,  sharp-ridged  hill,  from  the  top  of  which  he  could 
command  a  clear  view  of  the  inside  country,  and  of  the  circuitous 
course  of  the  path  by  which  Strebling  and  his  party  must  approach. 
It  needed  but  a  moment's  pause  to  determine ;  then,  with  the  aid  of 
the  straggling  roots  and  saplings,  he  scaled  the  rocky  ascent.  The 
wind  attacked  him  clamorously  as  he  reached  the  top.  Taking 
shelter  under  a  bent  cedar,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
looked  slowly  with  bated  breath  up  the  road  that  unfolded  like  a 
curling,  yellow  belt  through  the  valley  below  him. 

At  first  when  his  eye  had  passed  cautiously  along  from  point  to 
point,  he  gave  a  motion  of  quick  relief;  then,  with  a  sudden  shiver 
knelt  down  throwing  his  arm  over  his  head,  and  threw  himself  for 
ward  flat  on  the  ground,  eye  and  ear  fixed  like  a  pointers,  on  a 
group  of  scarce  perceptible  moving  shadows,  rapidly  approaching 
from  a  spot  where  the  road  cut  through  a  clump  of  trees. 

A  moment's  keen  survey,  then  he  dragged  himself  up. 

The  road  was  circuitous ;  that  gave  him  time.  He  thought  of 
this  as  he  plunged  down  the  hill-side,  with  eyes  half  closing,  and 
teeth  firmly  set.  He  thought  he  could  reach  the  gully  in  time  to 
save  Markle  and  Joe.  But  for  himself,  it  was  noticeable  that 
from  the  first  sight  of  his  master  and  his  companions  riding 
gallantly  along  the  road,  his  courage  and  hope  died  suddenly 
and  utterly  out.  James  Strebling' s  lean,  dainty  person,  the  moods  , 
on  his  dish-shaped,  sandy  face,  were  the  highest  absolute  law  to 
Nat ;  he  never  had  known  any  other :  and  law  came  to  him 
with  its  usual  vague,  invincible  terrors  to  the  vulgar  and  ignorant. 
He  did  not  reason,  nor  struggle.  The  stable,  the  harness  to  rub, 
the  long,  sleepless,  thoughtful  nights,  that  was  what  life  had  for  him. 
Tom  growing  up  into  a  handsome,  strong  man,  unseen,  and  un 
known,  Anny  finding  some  other  husband ;  for  she  was  yet  young, 
he  had  thought  of  that  possibility  before.  And  the  home  in  the' 
North  which  might  have  been,  was  waiting  and  ready.  But  it  was 
not  for  him. 


182  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

He  stopped  then,  and  putting  his  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
drew  out  a  pistol,  rusty  and  patched.  Years  ago,  he  had  found  it, 
and  tinkered  it  into  shape,  moulding  bullets  whenever  he  got  a  bit 
of  lead,  to  be  ready  for  this  day.  The  day  had  come  now,  and  the 
hour.  He  inspected  the  cap,  and  keenly.  If  it  came  to  a  hand  to 
hand  fight,  he  could  hold  his  own.  He  could  put  the  muzzle  to  the 
breast  of  any  of  those  gray-coated  soldiers  who  were  hounding  him 
down,  who  stood  between  him  and  freedom,  and  send  them  to  hell, 
composedly. 

But  M's  Strebling  and  Major  Bob  ?  His  hand  shook,  his  eye 
T\  andered  unsteadily.  Against  his  will  there  rose  before  him  re 
membrances  of  kindnesses  which  Strebling,  in  his  stiff,  pompous 
way  had  showed  to  him ;  of  money  he  had  thrown  him  when  pass 
ing  through  the  stable  yard,  of  little  dishes  sent  from  the  house 
table  when  he  was  sick  in  his  loft.  Trifling  kindnesses,  perhaps ; 
but  the  money  had  been  given  with  a  joke,  and  Strebling  had 
heaped  the  dishes  with  his  own  hand,  choosing  of  the  best.  As  for 

young  M's ;  he  was  angry  that  the  usual  warm,  jolly  feeling 

crept  into  his  heart  which  the  thoughts  of  the  genial,  vain  young 
fellow  always  brought  with  it.  Once  or  twice  the  boy  had  lashed 
him  with  his  own  hand,  in  his  tempests  of  fury.  There  was  a  scar 
across  Nathan's  bald  pate  where  his  leaded  whip  had  laid  the  flesh 
open  to  the  skull,  one  day,  while  the  gray-headed  man  stood  humbly 
holding  his  horse.  But  none  of  the  servants  remembered  these 
things.  He  was  always  ready  to  beg  a  holiday  for  them,  to 
contrive  that  they  shared  his  own.  On  the  days  when  Nathan 
had  been  going  to  see  Anny,  at  Fairview's,  the  lad  had  never  failed 
to  get  him  off  an  hour  or  two  earlier,  or  to  run  out  with  some  gaudy 
cravat  or  jacket  of  his  own,  in  which  Nathan  might  look  his  best. 
More  than  that,  he  had  inspected  him  anxiously,  as  if  he  cared  how 
he  looked. 

Nathan  uncocked  his  pistol  and  dropped  it  in  his  pocket. 

He  was  a  chattel  once  more.  He  remembered,  as  he  crept  ovev 
the  slippery  edge  of  the  rocks,  that  his  people  stood  as  he  did, 
through  all  the  South,  with  their  hands  stretched  out  for  freedom, 
knowing  that  if  this  chance  failed,  the  day  of  their  deliverance 
would  never  dawn ;  and  though  they  fought  bravely  when  they 
were  suffered  in  the  ranks,  there  had  been  no  midnight  murders,  no 
insurrection. 

"  De  marsters  didn't  know  de  harm  dey  done,  mebbe*  I'se  '11  not 
strike  de  hand  dat's  been  kind  to  me.  I'se  '11  not  disgrace  my 
color,"  muttered  the  man  who  had  henceforth  no  name  but  Nathan. 

He  plodded  on;  a  ridiculous  object  enough,  if  he  could  have  met 
the  eyes  of  fun-loving  Major  Bob,  caracoling  along  on  the  other  side 
of  the  road  on  his  finely  appointed  black  mare.  His  old  dress-coat 
was  buttoned  tightly  about  Nathan's  spare  figure,  the  red  shirt 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  183 

protruding  in  blotches,  the  tails  hanging  tattered  and  wet ;  the 
high  hat  battered  down  over  the  ..worn,  sickly,  coffee-colored  face. 
Coat,  and  hat,  and  face,  alike  worn  out  and  abused,  were  all  of  the 
man  that  his  young  master  could  ever  see  or  know ;  but  there  was 
One  that  night  who  looked  with  like  tenderness  into  the  hearts  of 
master  and  slave,  and  judged  both  with  juster  eyes  than  ours. 

When  the  hill  and  mountain  were  both  skirted,  Nathan  had 
reached  the  end  of  the  gully  which  opened  on  the  river ;  the  hut 
lay  near  the  other  end,  between  him  and  the  pursuers.  Once  he 
had  caught  a  faint  echo  of  their  horses'  hoofs,  but  it  had  died  out. 
Out  of  sight  of  them  the  man's  heart  began  to  flutter  again  feebly. 
If  it  were  possible — even  yet !  He  stooped  down  and  began  to 
run,  groping  along  the  bushes  that  hung  over  the  water,  searching 
for  the  skiff.  If  he  could  bring  it  up  to  the  gap  it  would  need  but 
a  moment  to  summon  the  men;  once  in  the  boat  there  were  hiding 
places  all  along  the  shore,  where  they  could  be  safe  until  the  danger 
was  past.  As  he  was  scrambling  along,  half  in  the  water,  like  a 
dog,  a  heavy  hand  caught  his  shoulder. 

"  Nathan  ?  "  Joe's  mountainous  shape  rose  before  him  from  out 
of  the  undergrowth. 

"  It's  me,  suh.  De  skiff!  dey's  on  us,"  in  an  unnaturally  quiet 
voice. 

"Who?" 

"  Ole  M's.  It's  you  and  me,  suh,  he's  huntin'.  I  'spect  I'se  got 
to  go." 

"  James  Strebling  ?  Is  he  coming  here  to-night  ?  Hunting  me 
like  a  wild  beast  ?  Let  me  go,  Nathan,"  gravely  disengaging  his 
sleeve  from  the  mulatto's  hand.  "  I've  had  business  a  long  while 
with  him.  It  can  be  done  to-night  as  well  as  any  other  time." 
The  voice  was  calm  as  usual,  but  Nat  felt  the  old  man's  burly  form 
shake  under  his  hand  as  if  writhing  under  a  blow. 

"  M's  Markle,  suh  ?     Dar's  a  co'prals  guard  wid  M's  Strebling." 

"I  forgot  the  Leftenant.  Ther's  that  skifft  under  the  paw-paw 
bush  yonder.  Tow  it  up  to  the  end  of  the  gap  an'  I'll  kerry  the 
little  fellar  down.  Did  you  get  that  ther  information  ?  " 

"  Yes,  suh."  He  stopped  with  one  foot  in  the  water.  "  Kin  I 
go?  Don't  leab  me  wid  M's  Strebling.  It's  my  las'  chance,  suh." 

"  Yes,  in  God's  name,  yes,"  Burley  growled  out,  almost  angrily. 
The  sight  of  the  poor  wretch  tugged  at  his  heart  with  such  a  sense 
of  absolute  pain.  As  he  went  lumbering  up  to  the  hut  he  thought 
he  heard  a  sound  of  stealthy  footsteps  and  whispers  beyond,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  rocks.  But  they  ceased  almost  as  soon  as  heard. 

Nathan  towed  the  skiff  down,  walking  in  the  water  lest  his  steps 
should  crush  the  brittle  twigs  with  which  the  shore  was  strewed. 
He  saw  Burley  leave  the  hut,  half  carrying  Markle  over  the  ruts. 
He  held  his  breath,  looking  for  them  to  be  stopped  by  the  flash  and 


184  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

report  of  a  rifle.  But  they  came  swiftly  and  silent  as  shadows, 
through  the  moonlit  space.  Markle  scrambled  nimbly  as  a  cat 
into  the  skiff,  catching  the  mulatto's  hand  with  a  hearty  grip  as  soon 
as  he  could  reach  him. 

"  Now  for  it,  comrade  !  Hurra  for  the  old  flag  and  freedom  ! " 
in  a  cheery  whisper  that  brought  the  blood  tingling  hot  and  fresh 
to  Nat's  heart. 

Buiiey  meanwhile  was  fumbling  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
"  Ther's  only  one  oar,"  he  said,  looking  up,  blankly. 

"  No  matter ;  we  must  make  it  answer,"  said  Markle,  sharply. 

"  Dar's  no  time  to  lose.  Dey  ought  to  have  reached  de  gully  by 
now,"  Nat  muttered,  a  clammy  sweat  breaking  out  over  his  face. 
But  Joe,  without  heeding  them,  stepped  out  of  the  skiff,  and  pushed 
it  rapidly  up  the  stream  under  the  shadow  of  some  impending 
rocks. 

"  It  will  lose  time  in  the  end  to  go  with  one.  Ther's  a  piece  of 
board  yander  in  the  hut  that'll  serve ; "  and,  without  waiting  to 
argue  the  point,  he  turned  back  and  reentered  the  ravine. 

The  silence  was  oppressive.  The  two  men  strained  their  ears  to 
catch  any  sound  which  might  warn  them  of  the  approach  of  the 
men.  One,  two,  three  minutes  passed,  and  Burley  did  not  return. 
Nathan  moved  uneasily  from  bow  to  stern.  The  time  lengthened. 

"  Ef  you're  willin',  suh,"  said  Nathan,  rising,  "  I'll  step  yander  an' 
look  up  de  gully  to  see  where  he  be." 

Markle  nodded,  and  the  mulatto,  after  carefully  pushing  the  boat 
out  of  sight  into  the  little  cove,  crept  cautiously  into  the  open  space 
and  peered  toward  the  hut.  He  saw  nothing ;  but  taking  a  step  or 
two  forward,  a  riding  whip  fell  on  his  arm,  and  looking  up,  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  Major  Bob. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  GHOST  OF  A  MURDER  DONE. 

BURLEY,  not  finding  his  bar  of  wood  in  the  hut,  was  groping  for 
it  outside,  when  a  step  beyond  in  the  field  caught  his  ear.  A  mo 
ment  after,  a  board  from  the  opposite  wall  of  the  hovel  was 
wrenched  violently  away,  and  looking  in  through  a  crack,  he  saw 
Strebling's  sandy  face,  with  its  perpetual  half  smile  on  it,  thrust 
through  the  aperture,  peering  eagerly  from  left  to  right,  noting  the 
yet  smouldering  ashes,  the  straw  pallet  on  which  Markle  had  lain, 
the  empty  whiskey  flask.  Then  he  disappeared  for  a  moment  and 
came  in  at  the  door,  turning  over  the  straw  and  ashes  with  his  cane 
in  a  gingerly  way,  at  which  Joe  laughed  grimly  through  all  his  rage 
and  alarm.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  however.  Strebling,  it  waa 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  185 

probable,  would  be  followed  by  others  who  would  be  keen-witted 
enough  to  make  use  of  the  scent -which  he  had  discovered,  and 
which,  judging  from  his  face,  had  reduced  him  to  total  imbecility  ; 
with  mild,  surprised  dismay.  What  between  the  suddenness  of  his 
peril,  and  his  hatred  of  the  man  which  had  become  a  part  of  his 
nature,  Burley  felt  his  knees  shake  under  him,  and  a  clammy  sweat 
break  out  over  his  body. 

His  narrow  forehead  cowered,  and  his  eyes,  staring  on  his  old 
enemy  through  the  crack,  burned  vindictively.  Margaret's  old 
wrong,  however  held  out  of  sight,  had  been  one  of  the  few  ideas 
which  had  given  to  his  contracted  life  consistence ;  it  had  always 
been  present,  a  latent,  smouldering  fever,  which  at  a  touch  rose  to 
madden  him. 

He  cocked  his  pistol  and  levelled  it,  thinking  vaguely  something 
about  Strebling  having  been  sent  there  to  meet  his  reward ;  but  he 
did  not  fire. 

Thinking,  as  his  bony  forefinger  flattened  itself  about  the  trigger, 
that  in  another  second  it  would  be  too  late ;  that  Strebling  would 
step  back  out  of  range,  give  the  alarm,  and  there  would  be  no 
further  chance  for  the  men  in  the  boat,  or  himself.  The  muzzle 
shook  as  it  rested  in  the  knot-hole ;  yet  he  did  not  fire. 

Thinking  that  Strebling  was  a  Rebel,  that  the  shot  which  took 
his  life  was  only  just  work  in  defence  of  the  Government:  passing 
his  disengaged  hand  over  his  wet  forehead.  Turning,  he  saw 
four  or  five  men  huddled  together,  coming  rapidly  up  to  the 
hut,  two  of  their  number  being  left  on  the  road.  He  had  but 
one  chance  to  fire  at  the  man  inside.  The  shot  he  knew  would 
bring  the  sentinels,  with  the  others,  for  a  moment  into  the  hut,  and 
then  he  would  have  a  breathing  space  for  escape.  The  moonlight 
fell  upon  their  faces,  and  they  were  so  near  that  he  could  trace 
every  feature.  Within,  Strebling  had  raised  himself,  and  was  tap 
ping  with  his  rattan  on  the  floor  for  the  men  to  approach.  It  was 
not  Burley's  habit  to  reason;  but  he  did  it  in  that  breathless 
moment  as  he  took  surer  aim  at  the  slim,  padded  figure.  It  was 
only  the  patriotic  work  he  had  come  there  to  do.  Besides,  the  man 
had  wrought  well  for  death  at  his  hands :  it  was  duty,  self-defence, 
justice. 

The  pistol  in  his  trembling  hand  fell  by  his  side. 

"  It's  murder,"  he  said,  quietly,  half  aloud,  and  turned  his  back 
on  the  hut.  Yet  he  never  hated  Strebling  with  such  unsated  re 
venge  as  when  he  spared  his  life.  From  the  shadow  in  which  he 
stood  concealed,  the  ground  fell  in  a  gentle  slope  to  the  entrance  of 
the  gully,  bare  of  trees  and  lighted  clearly  by  the  moon.  The  men 
had  stopped,  whispering  together,  and  stood  directly  between  him 
and  his  path  to  the  boat.  They  were  all  armed,  some  of  them  with 
their  pistols  in  hand.  Joe  examined  the  cap  on  his  own,  and  with 


186  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

:  VA  a  sharp  breath  and  fierce,  back-turned  look  to  Rosslyn,  and  the 
Good  Man,  and  home,  dashed  headlong  among  them. 

One  he  thrust  aside  ;  a  blow  from  the  bar  of  wood  which  he  held, 
levelled  another.  The  men,  taken  utterly  by  surprise,  staggered 
apart,  looking  after  him  as  he  ran  toward  the  gully.  Then  they 
broke  into  oaths,  and  half  a  dozen  bullets  rattled  about  him  as  they 
followed  him  pell-mell,  Strebling  at  the  hut-door  shouting  shrilly  to 
them.  They  were  young  men ;  but  the  fury  that  had  possessed 
him  gave  Burley  new  strength.  He  turned  at  the  entrance  to 
the  gully  and  fired,  aiming  at  the  foremost,  who  fell  with  it? 
ball  in  his  knee;  the  second  shot  made  another  reel  back.  Jot> 
heard  no  step  near  him  as  he  passed  through  the  ravine,  now 
clearly  lighted.  Plunging  into  the  low  undergrowth  that  edged 
the  shore,  he  ran,  stooping  like  a  dog,  toward  the  boat.  It  lay 
completely  hid  by  the  shadow,  but  Markle  had  dragged  hiw- 
self  out  on  the  muddy  bank,  and  was  pulling  himself  along  from 
one  tree  to  another,  his  useless  leg  trailing  after  him  as  Burley  cama 
up  to  him. 

"  I  heard  the  shots — I  was  coming." 

Joe  gave  a  fierce,  nervous  laugh.     "  In  with  you,  Leflenant." 

"  Not  without  Nathan.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  God  knows.  Strebling's  got  him,  I  reckon,"  lifting  the  smalle* 
man  unceremoniously  into  the  skiff.  The  men  had  reached  the 
creek  bank  about  twenty  yards  above  them,  the  thicket  of  paw-pan* 
bushes  intervening,  and,  after  a  moment's  baffled  pause  of  curse?; 
and  random  shots,  they  divided  to  beat  the  shore  in  pursuit.  Burley 
paused  with  one  foot  on  the  gunwale. 

"  I  ken't  leave  that  darkey." 

The  steps  crushing  through  the  bushes  drew  rapidly  nearer. 

"  Look  yonder,"  whispered  Markle ;  "  we  can  do  nothing." 

Joe  looked  up  to  a  sort  of  plateau  on  the  mountain  side  just 
above  them,  where,  by  the  clear  moonlight,  they  saw  Nathan  aiA 
his  master.  Major  Bob  had  evidently  driven  him  there  for  the  pur 
pose  of  reconnoitreing.  The  gold  lace  on  his  uniform  glittered  as 
he  stooped  over  the  precipice,  glancing  from  side  to  side  along  tJ>t> 
river.  Even  in  the  act  of  watching,  his  gallant  face  and  figure  were 
careless,  insouciant.  Poor  old  Nat  was  behind  him,  leaning  against 
the  rocks,  his  hands  hanging  by  his  side  inert  and  limp. 

"  It's  too  late,"  said  MarkLe. 

Burley  nodded,  and  stepping  into  the  skiff,  he  pushed  it  down 
the  stream  close  to  the  edge  of  the  shore.  Neither  man  spoke  for 
some  minutes,  each  of  them  glancing  now  and  then  up  at  the  lonely, 
miserable  figure  which,  with  its  tattered  old  hat  and  clothes  that 
had  aped  the  gentleman,  lay,  rather  than  stood,  against  the  hill,  like 
one  whom  fate  had  grown  tired  of  torturing,  and  thrown  aside. 
Defeat  was  in  every  draggled,  motionless  limb.  Even  in  the  ino 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  187 

ment  of  their  extreme  peril,  the  contrast  between  the  slave  and  his 
master  touched  both  men  in  the  boat.  Joe  could  not  be  quiet. 

"  Them's  hard  lines,"  he  whispered,  leaning  over  as  he  pushed  the 
oar  against  the  shelving  bank.  "  I'd  like  to  put  a  bullet  in  that 
young  fellar's  gilt  breast !  Nat's  true  grit.  He  never  turns  a  look 
this  way." 

Markle  made  no  reply,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  negro 
rather  than  on  the  shore  along  which  the  men  were  coming  in  swift 
pursuit.  The  bushes  which  had  sheltered  the  creeping  way  of  the 
boat  along  the  bank,  gave  place  to  a  bare  slope  of  clay  and  mud. 
Burley  paused  on  the  edge  of  the  unprotected  stretch  of  water 
curdling  dingily  in  the  light. 

"Ef  we  get  apast  that,  we're  safe,"  spitting  on  his  palms,  and 
bending  to  his  rude  oars.  Markle  drew  one  long  breath  as  with 
swift,  steady  strokes  the  boat  shot  out  into  the  open  light  in  full 
view  of  their  pursuers.  There  was  a  chorus  of  fierce  yells,  and  two 
or  three  shots  that  struck  the  water,  whizzing  alongside.  Burley 
strained  until  the  veins  stood  out  purple  on  his  forehead.  "  I  think 
we'll  make  it,"  he  said. 

Once  out  of  the  light  again,  they  would  be  safe  from  the  guns, 
and  the  precipitous  sides  of  the  mountain  forbade  chase. 

While  the  boat  was  shooting  through  this  open  space,  Mr.  Streb- 
ling  climbed  upon  the  ledge  where  his  son  stood.  He  was  paler 
than  was  his  wont ;  the  smile  had  deepened  into  a  pitiable,  nervous 
contortion. 

"  I  know  that  man,  Bob,"  he  said,  putting  one  hand  on  the  young 
officer's  shoulder,  and  nodding  down  to  the  brawny  figure  and  gray 
head  rising  and  falling  with  each  stroke  of  the  oars.  "  I — I'd  rather 
you'd  not  shoot,"  as  Major  Strebling  freed  his  right  arm  from  his 
hold,  muttering  a  curse  on  Yankee  spies. 

His  father  rubbed  his  clean-shaven  chin  tremulously.  "He's 
really  a  clever  fellow,  and  he — he  may  be  missed.  He  has  been 
very  kind  to  a  friend  of  mine,  Robert." 

The  decisive  young  soldier  was  used  to  his  father's  hesitating 
dribble  of  talk ;  it  fell  apparently  unheard  on  his  ears,  while  he 
waited,  with  pistol  pointed,  till  the  boat  should  come  within 
range.  Nathan,  who  had  stood  with  motionless  eyes  while  the 
skiif  was  undiscovered,  came  mechanically  to  the  edge  of  the 
plateau,  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  as  soon  as  it  glided  into  the 
light,  and  bending  lower  with  each  stroke  of  the  oars,  stood  with 
both  hands  stretched  toward  it,  dumb,  as  though  the  soul  in  the 
weak  shell  of  a  body  could  find  no  cry  for  its  great  and  irreparable 
loss. 

The  boat  took  with  it  his  chance  of  manhood,  of  home,  of  wife, 
and  child.  He  could  see  the  face  of  the  first  white  man  who  had 
given  him  his  hand  as  freely  as  Christ  would  have  done,  turned 


188  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

toward  him  ;  turned  with  an  awful  unable  pity  in  it,  dimming  *knd 
dimming  in  the  distance,  as  the  hope  was  dimming  out  of  his  life. 

A  flash  from  Major  Streb ling's  pistol,  a  light  wreath  of  smoke  in 
the  moonlight,  and  a  crisp,  rushing  sound  passed  through  the  boat. 
Burley  started,  threw  himself  forward. 

"  Joe  ! " 

"  It's  nothing."  But  he  set  his  teeth  as  he  pulled  a  few  long, 
desperate  strokes  that  drove  them  out  of  danger  into  the  shadow. 

"  We  are  beyond  their  reach  now,"  said  Markle.  "  Give  me  the 
oars,  I  can  pull  strong  enough  to  take  us  down  stream." 

"  Wait  a  bit,  I  haven't  done  my  sheer,"  with  ponderous,  steady 
motion. 

Markle  looked  back  once  more  to  Nat's  thin  figure  bending  over 
the  cliff  with  his  hand  held  out  mechanically.  There  was  neither 
imploring  nor  farewell  in  the  gesture,  nor  in  the  face  over  which  a 
ray  of  moonlight  fell ;  but  there  suddenly  broke  on  the  air  a  low, 
solitary  cry,  inarticulate,  full  of  unutterable  anguish  and  loss. 

It  went  with  them  into  the  darkness  which  they  entered.  The 
tears  came  to  Markle's  black  eyes ;  hot,  bitter  tears,  such  as  had 
risen  there  once  when  he  had  looked  on  the  dead  face  of  one  very 
dear  to  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  mulatto's  lonely  figure  wan 
the  type  of  all  his  people.  He  said  again,  that  it  was  the  ghost  of 
a  murder  done,  and  wondered  if  God  meant  that  life  should  ever 
return  to  it ;  life  such  as  that  which  throbbed  in  his  own  indignant 
pulses  ;  or  would  it  always  cry,  and  wring  its  hands  in  vain  ? 

The  darkness  about  them  was  heavy;  the  young  lieutenant, 
stooping  forward  to  take  the  oars  from-  Burley  could  not  see  the 
old  man's  face  ;  but  Joe  would  not  give  them  up.  He  continued  to 
pull  for  a  few  momenta,  then  the  strokes  grew  uneven  and  labored. 

"  I  reckon  you  kin  take  them,  Leftenant,"  he  said,  "  this  water'b 
gettin'  too  hefty  for  me." 

He  made  no  reply  after  that  to  Markle's  occasional  whispers,  and 
when  the  young  officer,  becoming  alarmed,  put  out  his  hand  and 
touched  him,  Burley's  heavy  body  sogged  down  on  the  floor,  and 
beside  the  board  on  which  he  had  been  sitting  there  was  a  thick 
pool  of  blood. 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

•   THE  LAST  DAT  AT  THE  FARM. 

IT  was  one  of  Doctor  Broderip's  holidays.  A  holiday  was  aa 
weighty  a  matter  with  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a  schoolboy  all  of  his 
life,  or  a  bound  apprentice.  He  used  to  plan  them  for  weeks  be 
fore,  crowding  and  arranging  operations  and  visits  so  that  one  day 
might  be  free.  If  there  was  a  flaw  in  it,  if  there  was  rain  when  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  189 

day  came,  or  an  unexpected  case  called  him  to  the  hospital,  he 
sulked  like  a  boy,  and  wreaked  his-  vengeance  on  everybody  who 
came  within  his  reach. 

This  day,  however,  was  clear  and  warm  as  if  sun  and  air  had 
joined  to  help  him  to  give  himself  enjoyment.  He  rose,  as  was  his 
habit  on  these  fete-days,  an  hour  or  two  earlier  than  usual,  so  that 
not  a  moment  might  be  wasted,  and  after  he  had  bathed,  dressed, 
and  taken  his  glass  of  claret  and  a  biscuit,  he  came  down  the  stairs 
feather-light  in  head  and  feet,  whistling  boyishly  as  he  stood  twirl 
ing  his  cane  at  the  hall  door,  glancing  up  and  down  the  street. 

He  was  so  eager  for  pleasure  on  these  days,  so  unlike  a  full-grown 
man  in  the  whole  matter,  that  the  whim  had  puzzled  Miss  Conrad 
more  than  she  cared  to  tell.  "  It  must  be,"  she  said  once,  "  that 
your  life  in  Franco  gave  you  this  relish  for  fetes."  At  which  he 
had  smiled  and  changed  color,  but  made  no  reply.  He  managed 
somehow,  not  only,  like  a  bee,  to  extract  the  honey  from  every  mo 
ment,  but  to  carry  the  zest  and  flavor  of  each  moment  with  him  all 
day.  He  had  some  peculiarity  of  temperament,  too,  which  enabled 
him  to  draw  physical  or  mental  luxury  out  of  the,  to  us  baldest 
commonplaces.  While  he  stood  now  on  the  doorway,  the  hour  of 
morning  gone  was  present  and  alive  to  him ;  the  chilly  plunge 
into  the  water,  the  fine  crisp  linen  rubbing  against  his  skin,  the 
gems  sparkling  unseen ;  the  sober  suit  of  gray  that  covered  this 
dainty  fastidiousness  with  a  decorous  mask ;  the  pure  air  coming 
to  his  lungs ;  all  remained  sentient  to  him.  Phil  followed  him 
about,  holding  by  his  coat,  and,  when  he  left  the  door,  roared 
vigorously ;  the  birds  in  the  conservatory  beat  their  wings 
against  the  glass  as  he  passed ;  the  hounds  came  after,  one  of 
them  walking  inside  of  the  iron  fence,  keeping  stately  step  with 
him,  and  as  he  went  down  the  pavement,  looking  after  him 
with  sorrowful  eyes.  That  pleased  him.  It  was  something,  he 
thought,  outside  of  a  man's  usual  nature  to  be  so  closely  akin 
to  children,  to  birds,  and  fowls,  and  beasts.  He  knew  one 
woman  who  was  the  same.  But  he  did  not  smile  at  that ;  the 
thought  of  her  lay  too  deep  and  secret  for  even  that  outward  show ; 
the  delight,  the  dream,  which  was  hidden  in  his  soul  unknown 
almost  to  himself;  as  the  fairy  land  of  Summer,  its  many-colored 
blossoms,  its  plenty,  and  its  harvest  sleep  beneath  the  miry  clay 
and  unmelting  snow. 

Formerly,  these  gala  days  had  apparently  given  Broderip  very 
doubtful  satisfaction.  There  had  been  times  when,  before  night 
came,  his  most  morose  mood  would  set  in,  and  he  would  leave  music, 
or  pictures,  or  stables — whatever  amusement  he  had  planned,  and 
end  the  evening  in  reckless  play,  which  took  the  place  to  him  of 
debauch  to  other  men,  or  in  sitting  alone,  looking  drearily  out  into 
the  gathering  night.  Lately  he  had  made  no  plans,  but  when  the 


190  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

days  came  (and  they  were  very  frequent  now),  he  turned  mechan 
ically  to  old  Hugh  Conrad  and  his  daughter,  and  left  them  to  fill 
the  time  for  him  as  they  pleased. 

Broderip  was  an  untiring  walker.  He  started  off  at  a  brisk  pace 
down  the  street  toward  the  depot,  the  tune  which  he  had  been 
whistling  keeping  up  its  merry  jingle  in  his  head.  Turning  into 
one  of  the  quiet  side  streets,  he  came  to  the  gate  of  a  Friends' 
burying-ground,  and  taking  a  pass  key  from  his  pocket,  he  opened 
the  gate  and  went  in,  passing  rapidly  to  a  corner  where  was  a 
scarce  raised,  unmarked  mound.  The  grass  was  already  green  over 
it,  although  little  heaps  of  snow  lay  in  the  hollows  near ;  a  path 
was  worn  from  the  gate  to  its  side ;  well  worn  by  many  feet,  yet, 
perhaps,  none  came  there  whom  the  gray-headed  old  man  resting 
beneath,  had  not  helped  up  on  their  life's  journey. 

He  had  been  kind  to  the  famous  surgeon  once ;  it  was  Broderip's 
habit  always  to  come  here  on  the  beginning  of  one  of  his  holidays, 
just  as,  gambler  and  profane  as  he  was,  he  often  secretly  said  a 
prayer  before  he  listened  to  fine  music,  or  took  up  his  scalpel,  or 
played  with  Phil ;  everywhere,  in  fact,  but  when  he  began  to  eat. 

While  he  stooped  to  pick  off  one  or  two  rotting  leaves  from  the 
old  Quaker's  grave  a  quizzical  smile  crept  out  on  his  face,  fancying 
that  the  shrewd  mouth  and  keen,  blue  eyes  in  the  face  beneath  the 
grass  and  clay  were  turned  up  to  him  intelligently.  A  faulty, 
whimsical,  old  man,  loving  his  dollars  much,  but  his  friend  more ; 
with  a  mania,  as  people  called  it,  of  thinking  any  man  his 
friend  for  whom  Christ  died ;  a  man  who  would  dun  a  debtor 
twenty  times  for  a  penny,  and  who  had  given  thousands  to  the 
anti-slavery  cause,  and  the  needy  poor  of  any  creed  or  color. 

The  smile  passed  off  of  Broderip's  face,  and  he  stood,  earnestly 
looking  down,  through  the  mound  of  white-edged  grass.  One 
might  have  fancied  that  it  was  a  boy  presenting  himself  before  his 
teacher  for  scrutiny  and  approval,  but  for  the  terrible  gravity  that 
gathered  in  his  look ;  the  dreadful  consciousness  of  himself,  of  his 
whole  self,  from  the  fastidiously  clean  clothes  and  skin,  into  the 
soul  which  even  the  dead  man's  eyes  could  not  reach ;  the  anxiety 
of  a  man  who  judges  himself  inexorably  as  the  great  book  will 
judge  him  some  day.  Such  moments  come  to  all  of  us  in  life. 

He  stood  quiet  for  some  time;  then  he  stooped  calmly  again 
to  smooth  the  grass,  glad  of  the  custom  which  had  forbidden 
any  marble  or  stone  to  set  forth  the  good  deeds  of  his  old 
friend,  but  left  him  near  to  those  he  had  befriended  with  only 
a  little  warm  earth  and  grass  between.  Earth  and  grass  were 
nature's  way  of  saying  that  life  was  good,  after  all;  and  some 
how  they  seemed  to  make  the  little  surgeon  more  akin  to  his 
benefactor  than  any  act  of  their  lives  had  done.  For  when  Brode 
rip,  as  a  boy,  had  met  the  old  Quaker,  there  had  been  words  spoken 


WAITING  FOR  TKE  VERDICT.  191 

that  were  hard  to  bear,  and  mortification  in  his  heart  that  stung 
like  any  adder.  It  was  all  gone  now.  When  he  had  cleared  away 
the  leaves  he  laid  his  delicate  hand  flat  on  the  ground  for  an  instant 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  as  if  he  bade  his  old  friend  a  cheerful  good- 
morning,  and  then  rising,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  forenoon  when  he  reached  the  little  station 
on  the  railroad,  nearest  to  Mr.  Conrad's  farm,  and,  turning  up  a 
lane,  struck  across  the  fields ;  the  long-repressed  whistle  turning 
into  a  shrill  song  ;  jumping  the  fences  and  stumps  nimbly  as  a  boy. 
From  the  moment  he  stepped  upon  Mr.  Conrad's  ground,  it  was 
noticeable  that  he  became  alive  with  interest  in  a  manner  new  to 
him ;  stopping  to  examine  a  broken  part  of  the  fence  ;  prodding 
his  stick  into  the  ground,  and  examining  anxiously  the  bits  of  loam 
that  came  out  on  it ;  leaning  over  the  fence  of  the  cow-yard  to  dis 
cuss  with  the  old  farm-hand,  Burton,  the  propriety  of  putting  the 
west  field  into  oats  or  barley.  For  Broderip,  as  boy  or  man, 
knocked  about  the  world,  had  been  everywhere  a  lodger,  sleeping 
and  eating  in  a  house,  not  a  home.  He  had  bought  mining  and  oil 
claims,  in  his  avidity  for  money ;  owned  vineyards  and  cranberry 
grounds  in  New  Jersey,  but  he  left  them  to  skilful  agents.  But 
this  little  patch  of  the  Methodist  preacher's  had  an  interest  to  him, 
apparently,  such  as  the  poor  homestead  in  which  he  was  born  may 
have  to  a  man  of  the  world.  The  shabby,  whitewashed  barn,  the 
clumps  of  sycamores  and  locusts  along  the  lane,  the  great,  old 
black-walnuts  shadowing  the  wooden  house,  had  grown  familiar  and 
dear  to  him  as  if  they  belonged  to  some  long-ago  days  of  boyhood 
irreparably  lost.  He  was  more  zealous  in  repairing  and  beautifying 
it  all  than  Miss  Conrad  or  her  father. 

"  It  is  only  a  rented  place  to  you,"  he  said  once,  "  but  it  is  home 
to  me." 

At  which  Margaret  fell  into  silence,  wondering  for  a  long  while 
if  it  could  be  that  it  was  the  first  home  he  ever  had  known.  Her 
own  local  attachments  were  strong  as  those  of  a  cat :  she  be 
longed  to  the  farm  where  she  had  been  born  and  lived  as  though 
her  very  flesh  and  bones  had  drawn  their  being  out  of  it  like  the 
pithy  young  saplings  in  its  woods.  It  seemed  woful  and  pitiable 
to  her,  therefore,  that  a  man  should  have  drifted  always  about  the 
world  without  a  home.  She  pitied  this  queer,  unhappy,  brilliant 
little  man  so  much,  after  that,  that  her  steady  voice  would  tremble 
suddenly  when  she  talked  with  him,  though  for  no  immediate  cause; 
she  would  lie  awake  at  nights  contriving  ways  to  make  his  visit  the 
next  day  cheerful,*  until  her  brain  grew  hot  and  rasped,  and  her 
cool  cheeks  turned  crimson  with  feverish  sleeplessness.  When  she 
watched  him  drive  away  from  the  door  sometimes, the  salt  tears 
would  rush  into  her  heretofore  gray,  resolute  eyes,  to  think  how 
lonely  he  must  be  when  her  father's  and  her  own  homely  talk  could 


192  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

give  him  so  keen  a  pleasure.  Now,  Miss  Conrad's  was  no  tender, 
sympathetic,  soothing  nature.  The  tranquil  blood  in  her  full  veins 
never  quickened  at  human  suffering :  flowed  on  sluggish  and  for 
getful  as  if  it  were  Lethe's  water.  "  People  whined  to  so  little  pur 
pose  ;  in  fact,  the  greater  number  of  the  women  she  met  were 
discontented,  and  the  men  weak ;  why  could  they  not  keep  their 
paltry  pains  and  joys  to  themselves?"  She  turned  away  from 
tears,  and  mourning  dresses,  and  red  eyes,  disgusted  and  contempt 
uous,  as  from  a  beggar  who  showed  his  sores. 

Her  father  told  all  this  to  Broderip  one  day,  while  the  girl's 
black  brows  contracted  at  hearing  her  character  mapped  out,  as  it 
were,  for  a  stranger. 

"  It's  some  Indian  notion  of  stoicism  she  got  in  her  youth,"  said 
Conrad.  "  For  Meg's  dogs  and  cattle  is  keered  for  with  her  own 
hands  when  they're  sick,  as  I  never  seen  a  woman  do  before.  And 
I  think  she  suffers  curiously  with  her  old  father,  as  if  she  and  him 
were  twins.  But  I  don't  think  she  keers  for  any  other  human  creetur, 
or  ever  can  do  it,"  turning  towards  her  with  a  tender  smile.  She 
met  it  with  one,  as  tender  and  beaming,  and  some  joking  reply,  but 
her  own  face  was  unwontedly  pale,  and  during  that  evening  she  had 
avoided  Broderip's  eyes. 

Perhaps  it  was  out  of  a  polite  remembrance  of  this  story  of  her 
fondness  for  animals  that  the  doctor  urged  upon  Mr.  Conrad's  ac 
ceptance  one  or  two  fine  specimens  of  cattle,  presented  to  him,  he 
said,  by  patients,  and  for  which  he  had  no  possible  place  of 
bestowal.  One  of  these,  a  fine  heifer,  stood  looking  at  him 
now,  while  he  talked  to  Burton,  with  her  delicate  muzzle  thrust 
over  the  fence  bars,  and  her  grave  eyes  on  his  face.  He  went  up, 
stroking  its  head  as  he  had  seen  Miss  Conrad  do.  He  had  been 
careful  not  to  offer  it  to  her ;  never  to  offer  her  even  a  flower,  though 
every  day  the  choicest  in  his  green-houses  were  brought  to  the  old 
man,  remembering  that  she  had  said  once  that,  to  her  mind,  a  gift 
from  an  acquaintance  was  an  impertinence ;  but  that  if  she  loved, 
she  would  be  glad  to  go  to  her  master  needy  as  Ruth  to  Boaz. 
Broderip  had  not  forgotten  the  words,  nor  her  face  as  she  spoke 
them. 

"As  for  that  heifer,"  said  old  Burton,  laying  a  rope  about  the 
broken  gate,  while  the  doctor  bent  the  cow's  head  down  to  his 
hand.  "  I  knownothin'  about  it.  Miss  Conrad,  she  hes  it  in  charge, 
an'  them  Westerners  is  cussedly  set  on  their  own  ways,"  stopping 
short,  and  giving  the  rope  a  vicious  pull  as  Mr.  Conrad,  his  cane 
held  obliquely  before  him,  came  across  the  yard.  Broderip  noticed, 
with  his  usual  suspicious  instinct,  that  the  old  man  did  not  meet 
him  with  his  ordinary  hearty  shout  of  welcome.  He  took  his  hand 
from  the  heifer's  neck  and  stood  on  guard,  as  it  were,  on  the  in- 


•WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDIC1.  193 

stant,  his  thin  lips  compressed,  and  his  watchful  eyes  on  Conrad's 
face. 

But  the  preacher,  though  embarrassed,  was  cordial  enough.  "  I 
thought  you  would  be  out  this  morning,"  holding  out  his  hand ; 
"  and  Meg  said  it  was  your  voice  she  heerd,  singing,  coming  across 
the  meddar;  but  I  couldn't  hear  it,  sharp  as  my  ears  are  set." 
There  was  a  certain  tart  impatience  in  his  tone,  new  to  it,  of  which 
Broderip  thought  it  wisest  to  take  no  notice. 

"  My  ears  are  worth  enough  to  tell  me  what  you're  a-doing,  Bur 
ton,"  growled  the  old  man.  "You're  patching  that  hinge  agen 
with  rope.  You  know  where  to  find  the  tools,  I  reckon.  Go  fetch 
them." 

To  which  Burton  replied,  when  at  a  safe  distance,  that  he  "  wasn't 
a  mule  or  a  slave,  neyther." 

"  He's  a  cantankerous  old  fool,"  said  Mr.  Conrad,  when  they  had 
left  the  cow-yard,  and  were  slowly  walking  side  by  side  down  the 
slope  toward  the  house,  the  half  decayed  stubble  yielding  under 
neath  to  their  tread.  "  He's  one  part  of  the  concern  I  shall  not  be 
sorry  to  leave  behind  when  we  go."  Broderip  turned  quickly  to 
ward  him,  but  said  nothing. 

"  He's  a  makeshift  and  sham,  like  his  hinge,"  striking  the  ground 
with  his  stick,  keeping  an  angry  time  to  his  words.  "  There's  a 
good  deal  of  onreality  and  sham  creeping  into  the  world,  any  way. 
It's  so  hereabouts,  at  least,  I  think ;  out  West  it's  different." 

"How — different?"  asked  Broderip,  gravely,  passing  his  hand 
over  his  clean-shaven,  hollow  cheeks. 

The  old  preacher  coughed  and  cleared  his  throat.  Whatever  was 
the  secret  thought  that  goaded  his  ill-temper,  it  was  apparently  one 
which  he  wished  to  conceal.  "  I  mean  what  I  say ;  no  more,  no 
less.  A  man  offers  himself  there  at  his  real  vally.  To  love  means 
to  love,  and  to  hate  means  a  short  fight,  tough  blows,  and  then  it's 
done  with.  But  there's  polish  on  all  men  here  alike,  and  how're 
you  to  know  if  it's  the  real  wood  you've  got,  or  just  second-hand 
work  veneered  ?  " 

Now,  instinct  is  a  keener  expert  than  reason  at  interpreting  co 
vert  undermeanings,  and  the  thin  little  man  in  gray,  walking  beside 
Conrad,  knew  as  clearly  that  these  words  were  meant  for  himself 
as  though  the  old  man  had  named  him.  After  all,  when  you  wound 
a  man's  self-respect,  you  touch  something  which  lies  below  any  love 
or  friendship.  There  was  a  single  moment  of  silence,  and  then  the 
surgeon  said,  in  a  quiet,  authoritative  tone,  "  I,  at  least,  am  clear 
of  your  condemnation.  I  have  made  no  professions,  and  have 
played  no  part  with  you.  I  felt  myself  fit  to  be  your  friend,  and," 
his  voice  growing  harder,  "  the  friend  of  your  daughter,  and  I  feel 
that  I  am  so  still.  I  never  offered  myself  as  your  spiritual  col 
league  or  business  adviser."  He  was  silent  a  moment,  "  There  may 
13 


194  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

be  relations  which  I  can  never  fill,  but  that  of  an  honest  man  or  a 
friend,  is  not  among  them." 

"  I  know  it,  Broderip,  I  know  it ! "  gripping  his  shoulder,  sud 
denly.  "  I  talk  like  a  brute  to-day.  But  I've  had  trouble  that's 
nigh  driven  me  to  the  wall.  I'm  soured  and  suspicious  agin'  all  the 
world  but  Meg.  There,  there  !  let  me  alone  a  bit !  I'll  tell  you 
after  a  while,"  and  they  walked  on  together  without  speaking. 
Conrad's  head  sunk  upon  his  breast.  Only,  in  token  of  his  kindly 
feeling,  the  impulsive  old  fellow  kept  his  hand  on  Broderip's  arm, 
leading  him  as  if  he  were  a  boy. 

The  surgeon  was  very  glad  to  let  the  matter  go.  Old  men  were 
subject  to  such  splenetic  whims  and  humors.  For  him,  it  was  his 
holiday ;  and  he  shut  his  eyes  wilfully  to  any  rising  cloud. 

As  they  came  nearer  to  the  old-fashioned  garden  surrounding  the 
house,  he  caught  sight  of  Miss  Conrad's  figure  in  the  arbor  at  work 
among  the  bare  stems  of  the  grape-vines.  As  soon  as  he  had  left 
her  father  on  the  porch  he  would  go  and  help  her,  and  then  all 
three  would  go  on  a  long  rambling  walk  over  the  hills  beyond  the 
creek ;  then,  home  again  hungry  and  tired,  for  dinner  and  reading 
and  music ;  any  of  the  careless,  inconsequent  ways  in  which  happy 
people  draw  the  electric  sparks,  one  after  another,  from  the  day. 

For  Broderip  had  fallen  into  this  routine  with  them ;  he  made  no 
motion  to  alter  it ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  never  meant  to  put  out  his 
hand  to  alter  it,  or  to  change  their  relations.  Why  should  he  ?  It 
was  a  Summer's  day,  such  as  never  had  dawned  in  his  life  before. 
It  was,  he  thought,  an  ordinary  day  to  her.  If  there  was  anything 
beyond,  toward  which,  at  times,  he  looked  with  a  hunger  passing 
that  of  women,  yet  which  he  denied  himself,  the  loss  was  but  his 
own.  Miss  Conrad,  he  thought,  was  even  more  self-reliant,  com 
posed,  cold,  than  when  he  first  had  known  her.  True,  there  were 
times  when  this  thought  of  himself  as  other  men,  of  her  as  his  wife, 
almost  mastered  him ;  the  words  had  trembled  on  his  lips  which 
should  open  the  gateway  to  that  other  life ;  but,  as  yet,  they  had 
never  been  spoken.  In  cooler  moments,  when  he  was  most  a  man, 
he  told  himself  resolutely  that  it  could  never  be ;  and  then  he  rested 
in  his  Summer  day,  forgetting  that  after  a  while  the  payment  of 
loss  must  come,  and  that  he  alone  must  b.ear  it.  Perhaps  the  saga 
cious  old  man  was  right,  as  he  listened,  with  a  curious  interest,  to 
the  uneven,  quick  fall  of  Broderip's  steps  on  the  clay,  as  he  walked 
beside  him. 

"Weak  and  strong  by  turns,"  he  thought.  "  Onstable,  onstable 
as  water !  "  with  a  sigh.  It  was  a  favorite  test  of  character  with 
him.  They  reached  the  door  and  passed  into  the  wide,  heartsome 
parlor.  "  I'll  bring  your  chair  to  the  fire,"  said  Broderip,  "  and 
then  go  for  Miss  Conrad  to  prepare  for  our  walk."  But  he  stopped, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  195 

after  he  had  established  the  old  man  before  the  blazing  heap  of 
brands,  to  look  at  a  package  which  lay  on  the  mantle-shelf. 

"They're  seeds  from  the  Patent  Office,"  said  Mr.  Conrad. 
"  Young  Randolph  sent  them  to  me." 

The  petulant  frown  deepened  on  Broderip's  face,  he  fingered  the 
string  impatiently.  It  enraged  him  that  they  should  receive  the 
benefit  of  even  a  flower  from  any  hands  but  his. 

"  I  have  better  specimens  than  these  of  the  same  plants,"  he  said. 
"  Allow  me  to  exchange  them." 

"  As  you  please,"  smiling  grimly  when  he  heard  the  seeds  crack 
ling  in  the  fire  a  moment  after.  "  It  does  not  matter,"  he  contin 
ued  drily.  "  We  shall  not  need  seeds  or  plants  here.  I  have  given 
up  the  place." 

Broderip  stood  quite  silent,  his  arm  on  the  mantle-shelf,  looking 
down  at  him. 

"  We  are  going  West  again — Meg  and  I." 

There  was  no  exclamation  or  motion  of  surprise ;  only  a  moment's 
silence,  after  which  the  surgeon  asked  him,  quietly,  "  How  soon 
they  were  going  ?  " 

"In  a  week." 

"T did  not  know  it,"  said  Broderip,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
head  in  a  feeble,  boyish  way.  "  You  did  not  tell  me." 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  roughly,  for  the  surgeon's  apparent  indifference 
stung  the  old  man  to  the  quick ;  he  was  sore  with  trouble  that  day. 
"We  did  not  know  it  till  last  night.  Truth  is,  it's  hard  for  you  to 
understand,  Doctor  Broderip  ;  you've  never  been  pinched ;  we  had 
but  a  pauper's  pittance,  as  it  would  seem  to  people  in  your  way  of 
life.  That's  gone  now." 

Still  no  answer. 

"  Gone,"  the  old  man  went  on  mechanically.  "  There's  a  firm 
failed  in  Ohio  where  I  had  my  savings  invested.  They're  all 
washed  overboard.  We  can't  afford  to  keep  the  place ;  we  faced 
that  at  once ;  so  we'll  go  back  to  our  own  country,  and  scrape  along 
for  ourselves." 

There  was  no  reply.  Broderip,  with  both  hands  behind  him,  was 
leaning  against  the  wall,  staring  vacantly  out  at  the  muddy  slope. 
There  was  but  one  idea  clear  to  him,  and  that  was,  that,  when  he 
had  denied  himself  Margaret  as  his  wife,  he  had  been  a  true  man  ; 
and  that  this  was  his  reward.  Whether  the  thought  was  bitter  or 
not,  only  he  and  God,  who  was  testing  him,  knew. 

Somehow  his  silence  touched  the  old  man.  "  I  know  you're  sorry 
for  us,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand,  which  Broderip  took.  "  I 
can  bear  pity  from  you.  You've  been  friendlier  to  me  than  any 
man  I  know  here,  Doctor  Broderip,  and  come  nearer.  I'll  say  that. 
I've  been  savage  to-day  as  a  miserable  old  hound,  though,  that  'ud 
bite  the  hand  that  fed  him.  It's  this,  you  see,"  touching  his  eyes. 


196  WAITING  FOE,  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  lost  all  before,  and  made  a  joke  on't.  But  now  the  work'll  come 
on  Meg." 

The  surgeon  muttered  some  inarticulate  words,  to  which  the  old 
man  listened  with  keen  attention,  but  without  being  able  to  com 
prehend  them. 

"  I've  got  rid  of  the  place  remarkable  easy,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
"I  sent  for  Holmes,  the  landlord,  this  morning,  and  it  seems  that 
Dutchman  by  the  mill  wants  it,  and  will  take  it  off  my  hands  at 
once.  He's  going  to  open  tavern." 

Broderip  gave  a  sudden  laugh,  and,  without  waiting  to  hear 
more,  passed  down  the  room  to  the  door,  glancing  sharply  from 
side  to  side:  at  the  window,  where  Margaret's  work-table  and 
chair  stood ;  at  the  chess-board,  the  red  and  white  men  catching  the 
cheerful  morning  light ;  at  the  old  man's  leather,  easy  chair,  and  his 
own,  near  to  it.  The  quiet  days  he  had  spent  there ;  the  long  even 
ings  before  the  fire,  with  the  red  light  flashing  and  darkening ;  the 
preacher's  drowsy  stories,  and  the  one  other  figure  near,  toward 
which  he  seldom  looked,  but  which  was  present  to  him  in  every 
sense  of  his  body — all  flashed  before  him  in  that  brief  moment  of 
going  to  the  door.  Instead,  in  a  week  his  old  friend  would  have 
vanished  as  utterly  out  of  his  life  as  if  Death  lay  between  them ; 
there  would  be  a  crowd  of  loutish  Dutchmen  playing  dominoes 
about  the  fire;  a  smell  of  rum  and  rotten  cheese  through  the  olr! 
house,  which  Conrad  was  glad  to  get  off  of  his  hands  so  easily. 
The  weak,  nervous  little  man  looked  up  at  it  when  he  was  outside, 
thinking  that  it  was  different  with  him :  remembering  how  he  had 
gone  through  one  day's  work  after  another,  with  no  pleasure  to  look 
forward  to  beyond  the  hour  in  the  evening  under  its  roof,  and  how 
his  heart  had  been  used  to  throb  hot  and  heavy  at  the  mere  sight 
of  the  old  moss-grown,  decayed  porch,  as  he  turned  the  corner  of 
the  mill  yonder.  In  a  week  there  would  be  no  trace  of  him  in  the 
familiar  place :  Conrad  would  have  gone  to  older  friends :  it  cost 
him  but  little  now  to  part  with  him,  that  was  evident.  If  there 
was  any  other  loss  cominof  which  would  leave  an  irreparable  gap 
in  his  life,  he  held  it  back  out  of  sight — did  not  name  it,  even  to 
°Y  himself. 

He  was  unjust  to  the  old  Methodist.  Half  of  his  bitterness  and 
wrath,  to-day,  was  caused  by  his  conviction  that  they  and  Broderip 
would  never  meet  again,  and  that  the  surgeon  would  not  choose  to 
put  out  his  hand  to  prevent  the  parting.  The  old  man's  love  for 
his  daughter  was  jealous  and  keen-sensed  as  that  of  a  lioness  for 
its  whelps.  He  had  fancied  lately,  when  he  touched  her,  that  her 
firm  flesh  was  growing  soft  as  that  of  other  women ;  that  the  eyes 
were  sunken  into  deeper  hollows ;  there  was  at  times  an  incertitude 
in  her  step,  a  nervous  gayety  in  her  voice,  that  startled  and  alarmed 
him.  When  this  news  came  to  him  last  night,  his  first  thought  was 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  197 

that  now  he  had  a  reasonable  pretext  for  removing  her  from  dan 
ger.  Yet  the  old  man  had  an  oddly.,  affectionate  nature,  and  he  had 
taken  this  Broderip  into  his  heart  with  something  of  the  feeling  he 
might  have  for  a  maimed  son,  whose  power  and  disease  were  both 
beyond  his  comprehension. 

"  But  he  shall  not  play  fast  and  loose  with  my  Meg  !  "  he  said 
fiercely,  after  the  surgeon  had  left  the  room.  He  rose,  went  to  the 
window,  and  stood  there,  his  head  a  little  bent,  to  hear  the  retreat- 
ng  footsteps  on  the  ground.  More  than  ever,  the  step  seemed  to 
nim  irresolute  and  wavering.  His  face  cleared  at  last  "  He's  gone 
to  her,"  he  said,  turning  away,  and  beginning  to  pace  up  and  down, 
his  stick  slightly  before  him.  "  If  he  loves  her,  it'll  force  itself 
into  words  now,"  he  thought.  "  There's  not  many  men  would  turn 
from  a  woman  left  in  want  as  Meg's  likely  to  be.  At  any  rate, 
John  Broderip's  not  the  one  to  do  it.  He's  the  true  grit.  Though," 
recollecting  himself,  "  there's  no  denying  that  he  has  not  made  his 
suit  as  I  did  to  Priscilla." 

The  difference  in  their  social  position  never  entered  the  simple- 
minded  old  man's  head ;  if  it  had,  he  would  have  said  that  his  girl 
was  a  wife  for  the  best  man  in  the  land,  and  thought  no  more  about 
it.  The  change  in  their  fortunes,  too,  through  the  marriage,  hardly 
occurred  to  him,  as  he  walked,  thinking  of  Meg  as  a  happy  wife 
and  mother,  with  a  sagacious,  kindly  smile  on  his  face.  "I  could 
fend  for  myself  if  I  was  back  agin  among  my  old  people.  But  I'd 
come  see  Meg  once  a  year :  about  once  a  year."  So  he  planned 
and  doubted,  pondering  on  trifles,  like  any  girl  uncertain  whether 
she  was  loved  or  not,  his  cheeks  heating  and  growing  pale  by  turns. 
For  his  daughter  was  very  dear  to  him,  and  he  fancied  her  fate  for 
life  was  to  be  decided  to-day.  Was  it  possible  that  he  could  have 
been  mistaken  in  thinking  that  Broderip  loved  her ;  that  his  voice, 
his  manner,  his  very  breath  altered  when  she  came  near  him :  that 
his  mind  swayed  to  her's,  helpless  in  its  passion,  as  a  weed 
drifting  in  the  tide  ?  Or  had  he  been  but  a  thoughtful  friend,  and 
these  fancies  a  fond  fathev's  prejudice  2  So  the  old  man  sat  ami 
waited,  while  the  morning  broadened  into  noon,  and  the  square 
shadows  of  the  windows  retreated  from  the  floor,  and  gave  place  to 
a  cold,  universal  glare.  They  had  gone  to  walk  alone:  but  he  was 
too  honorable  to  follow  the  sound  of  their  steps  over  the  garden 
walks,  and  try  to  catch  their  secret.  • 

"  Meg  will  come  and  tell  me  of  her  own  free  will,  when  all  is  well 
with  her." 

Broderip  was  not  a  man  to  discuss  coolly  with  himself  the  right 
and  wrong  of  any  intended  action.  Thought  and  reasoning  came 
to  his  unequal  brain  in  a  series  of  analogies  or  flashes  of  pictures. 
As  he  went  down  through  the  scattered,  leafless  sycamores  to  the 
garden,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  slow,  sinuous  motions  of  the  gill 


198  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

in  the  arbor  as  she  stooped  or  rose,  cutting  branches  from  the  bare 
vines.  In  the  dull  stubble  fields  around,  or  the  formal,  fenced  little 
garden,  with  its  square  beds  of  dried  and  decaying  vegetables,  and 
wet  tan-bark  walks  between,  there  was  hint  neither  of  color  or 
light :  the  sunshine  was  pale  and  thin,  the  wind  rattled  the  bare, 
black  boughs  overhead  drearily ;  but  there  was  power  of  motion  in 
her  slow  figure,  affluence  of  color  enough  to  fill  the  whole  day  with 
life.  She  had  thrown  back  the  sweeping  fur  cloak  until  it  drooped 
from  her  shoulders  in  large  folds  :  beneath,  the  heavy  dress  of  ruddy 
hue  showed  the  full  contour  of  her  head  and  bare  throat,  solid 
and  pale  as  yellowish  marble,  with  the  black  coils  of  hair  falling 
loosely  down :  there  was  a  new  brilliancy  in  the  crimson  cheeks 
and  gray  eyes,  large  and  piercing  under  their  straight  brows. 
Ceres  might  have  so  stood,  waking  in  the  late  Autumn  fields,  dis 
crowned  and  unqueened,  save  for  the  potent  mastering  strength  in 
her  own  broad  bosom. 

She  smiled  when  he  stopped,  leaning  over  the  gate,  regarding  her, 
then  went  on  with  her  work,  having  apparently  forgotten  that  he 
was  near.  The  little  man,  who  had  no  Saxon  plucky  endurance 
in  him  to  battle  with  pain,  let  his  chin  fall  on  the  gate,  while  his 
eyes  silently  devoured  her  every  motion.  He  was  worn-out :  his 
life,  as  the  rules  of  men  had  bounded  it  for  him,  and  the  life 
that  should  have  belonged  to  him  as  a  man,  had  faced  him  so 
barely  a  moment  before !  The  pain  of  the  day  had  sucked  the 
strength  out  of  him :  this  was  its  first  actual  pleasure,  and  here 
was  rest  and  luxury  for  every  artistic  sense  in  his  nervous  body. 

He  watched  her  move  as,  sleeping,  he  would  watch  a  scarce  de 
fined  dream  of  comfort  and  cheer :  there  was  prophecy  in  it,  as  in 
inarticulate  music  which,  full  and  uninterpreted,  seems  to  pass  on 
with  us  through  the  approaching  years ;  he  stood,  weak  and  idle, 
listening.  There  was  but  little  passion  in  his  feeling  for  Margaret 
that  day ;  she  seemed  to  him  to  idealize  his  life  as  it  might  have 
been ;  he  looked  at  her  with  unable  eyes,  stretched  ineffectual, 
groping  hands  toward  her ;  conscious  of  how  beaten  and  misused 
and  wornout  he  was.  If  she  would  put  one  of  her  cool,  strong 
hands  on  his  throbbing  forehead,  he  could  shut  his  eyes  and  be 
content  to  die,  giving  up  the  battle,  and  owning  himself  worsted. 

Afterward,  to  his  tired,  uneasy  brain,  there  came  the  remem 
brance  that  she  was  poor  now ;  miserably  poor,  it  might  be ;  he 
began  to  picture  her  as  a  drudge ;  he  could  save  her  from  this ; 
rf  he  did  not  save  her,  indeed,  there  was  a  chance  that  her  father 
would  think  he  had  been  false  and  unfair  in  his  conduct  to  her. 

But  if  he  did  it ;  if  he  kept  her  here  ? 

His  breath  struggled  quick  and  hot  through  his  breast,  he  put 
one  hand  over  his  face  to  hide  the  glowing  eyes.  Another  pic 
ture  came  up  to  him.  Of  the  stately  house  he  had  built  yonder, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  199 

with  Marg£A*et  in  it  as  his  wife  ;  but  it  was  a  poor  home  for  her — • 
meagre  and  dull.  It  should  be  made  beautiful  as  a  fairy  palace  5 
she  would  help  him,  through  the  great  love  he  bore  her,  to  cast  off 
the  last  remnants  of  his  old  animal  nature,  to  reach  the  true  man 
hood — he  would  spend  his  life  in  helping  others.  For  her — he 
would  shut  her  away  from  every  eye,  he  would  so  surround  her 
with  homage  and  honor  that  she  should  desire  no  glimpse  beyond. 
She  should  be  his  alone  ;  the  reward  for  all  the  loss  that  had  gone 
before  ! 

He  lifted  his  head,  and  opening  the  gate  went  toward  her,  the 
sensitive  pale  face,  lighted  by  some  subtle  spirit  of  power  and  tri 
umph.  Margaret,  seeing  him  come,  turned  with  the  old  composed 
smile  to  meet  him.  But  the  hand  which  fell  by  her  side  closed  sud 
denly  until  the  nails  pressed  hardly  in  the  flesh. 

"  Will  you  come  down  this  path  with  me  ?  "  he  said,  quietly.  "  I 
have  a  story  to  tell  you.  You  deferred  it  once.  But  you  will  hear 
it  now?" 

They  turned  into  a  wide  walk  covered  with  brown  needles  of  the 
pines,  sodden  into  the  ground.  It  was  then  that  a  little  circum 
stance  occurred  which,  years  afterward,  Miss  Conrad  understood, 
and  knew  why  it  had  imported  much  in  her  life.  It  was  only  the 
approach  of  a  negro  servant  with  a  note  to  her.  Margaret  uncon 
sciously  drew  back  from  the  woman  before  she  took  it,  and  when 
she  was  gone,  shook  the  note  in  the  fresh  air  as  if  it  was  tainted,  be 
fore  she  thrust  it  in  her  pocket.  Looking  up,  she  saw  Doctor  Bro- 
derip  looking  at  her  with  eyes  that  seemed  blind,  his  face  quiet 
and  cold. 

"  I  am  ready  to  walk  now,"  she  said. 
"  Yes." 

She  had  a  curious  flash  of  conviction  when  she  looked  at  him, 
that  in  that  moment  some  power  had  thrust  them  apart  as  no 
mountains  or  seas  between  could  do.  After  one  swift  glance,  she 
walked  calmly  beside  him,  but  the  brilliant  color  had  faded  a  little 
in  her  cheeks.  He  was  quite  silent,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  his  head  bent,  moving  only  to  push  the  thorny  berry  branches 
out  of  her  way.  She  had  a  vague  fancy  that  he  was  putting  on  a 
mask  of  grave  face  and  controlled  voice  which  was  meant  to  thrust 
her  from  him  forever ;  that  whatever  might  be  the  battle  waged  in 
his  soul,  she  would  know  nothing  of  it. 

When  they  had  reached  the  branching  old  cedar  at  the  end  of 
the  walk,  he  brushed  the  dead  leaves  from  a  rough  bench  below  it, 
and  motioned  her  to  sit  down ;  then  stood,  one  arm  leaning  over 
the  crisped  brown  trunk,  looking  over  her  head  into  the  dead  stub 
ble  field. 

"  The  story  I  meant  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  in  the  grave,  reticent 
tone  with  which  he  controlled  a  patient,  "  can  never  be  put  into 


200  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

words,  now."  He  stopped,  his  throat  growing  dry  and  hoarse. 
"  It  was — a  fancy  I  had,"  after  a  moment,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  I 
had  thought  of  it  for  a  long  time.  But  I  do  not  think,  Miss  Conrad, 
that  it  ever  would  have  imported  much  to  you,"  with  a  quick,  fur 
tive  falling  of  the  eyes  to  her's.  Something  which  she  detected  in 
them,  touched  her  as  no  words  of  his  had  ever  done.  She  shivered 
as  she  had  done  when  some  animal  was  being  killed  near  her,  and 
she  could  hear  its  inarticulate  cries. 

"  I  was  too  old  a  man  to  so  dupe  myself,"  with  a  smile.  "  But  it 
never  can  happen  again." 

"Have  I  hurt  you?" 

"  No.  But  I  have  had  a  miserable  secret,  and  there  might  come 
a  day  when  you  would  know  it.  I  have  seen  the  very  look  which, 
you  would  turn  on  me  when  you  heard  the  truth." 

She  turned  her  face  on  him  now,  pale,  full  of  power.  "  You  do 
not  know  me.  I  am  no  schoolgirl  with  shallow  fancies".  I  do  not 
veer  with  every  wind  that  blows." 

He  came  closer  to  her ;  he  held  his  breath ;  stooping,  looking 
into  the  moist,  gray  eyes  raised  to  his,  full  of  liquid,  trembling  light. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  some  spirit  unknown  to  men,  fresh  as  when 
God  breathed  it  into  her,  waited  there  to  meet  him  at  his  bidding. 
The  silence  about  them  grew  audible :  S!OAV  throbbing,  the  beat 
ing  of  his  own  pulses,  filled  his  ear;  the  sun  which  had  faded 
out  of  its  sickly  lustre  into  foreboding  shadows,  was  slowly  filled 
with  chilly  mist  that  trailed  through  the  air.  A  dead  twig  loosened 
from  the  branch  above  by  some  wandering  bird,  fell  on  his  hand. 
The  touch  startled  him ;  he  stood  up  like  one  waking  from  a  mo 
mentary  stupor,  the  relaxed  features,  hardening  again,  holding  one 
hand  across  his  narrow,  stooped  chest  with  a  curious  gesture  of 
sheltering  himself  from  pain.  None  but  a  weak  man  or  woman 
could  have  made  it. 

"  I  saw  the  look  in  your  face  !  I  saw  the  look  in  your  face," 
under  his  breath. 

The  drops  of  sweat  gathered  on  his  own  thin  visage.  "  I  have 
had  a  hard  life,"  slowly,  with  a  queer,  far-reaching  look  as  though 
it  all  were  present  to  him  in  that  moment.  "  But  it  would  be 
easier  to  live  it  over  again  than  for  the  day  to  come  when  you 
should  know  the  truth." 

The  gray  eyes  grew  cold,  and  fell  slowly ;  when  they  were  lifted 
again,  they  swept  over  his  face,  over  the  dull  sky  and  fields  with 
their  old  calm,  resolute,  unrevealing  scrutiny.  Whatever  it  was 
that  had  looked  out  of  its  prison-house  through  them  a  moment 
ago,  had  retreated  to  its  life-long  hiding-place  never  to  return. 
She  rose,  and  drawing  her  fur  cloak  closer  about  her  throat,  stood 
beside  him,  looking  down  through  the  narrow,  melancholy  strip  of 
valley  to  the  horizon  up  which  a  storm  was  rising.  She  noted,  as 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  201 

she  saw  everything  without  looking  toward  it,  that  the  little  man 
beside  her  shivered  in  his  thin  holiday  suit,  and  that  the  cough 
which  the  cutting  mist  had  provoked,  racked  and  tore  his  lungs. 
From  feeling  of  womanly  pity,  or  some  other  impulse  she  would 
have  torn  her  own  warm  wrappings  off  to  shelter  him ;  but  what 
light  had  she  ?  If  he  were  dying  any  other  woman  would  have 
more  seemly  right  to  aid  him  than  she,  whom  he  had  thrust  from 
him.  She  turned  toward  the  house,  and  he  followed  her. 

"  It  was  a  clear  morning  when  you  first  came  to  me,"  he  said, 
with  a  forced  smile.  "  It  suited  our  meeting,  and  this  seerns  a  fit 
ting  day  on  which  to  say  good-bye." 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  It  is  better  that  we  should  part,  Margaret." 

The  beautiful  face  was  carved  between  him  and  the  fading  light, 
set  and  stern.  "  I  wish  to  work  ill  to  no  man.  Yes  ;  it  is  better." 

They  were  passing  a  clump  of  branching  hemlocks :  he  put  his 
hand  on  her  wrist,  and  drew  her  under  their  shelter.  "  111  to  me  ? 
It  is  not  that :  I  would  be  willing  to  bear  the  scorn  and  loathing  of 
your  look,  to  call  you  mine  for  but  a  day.  But  you — to  see  your 
head  go  down — down.  The  jeers — the  loss  that  I  have  always 
known,  to  come  on  you  and  your  children !  The  stain  of  it  that 
you  never  could  be  rid  of!"  The  words  had  been  driven  out  of 
his  lips  in  a  shrill,  piping  outcry.  He  stopped  now,  holding  one 
hand  over  his  eyes  until  he  had  regained  his  usual  calm.  When  he 
looked  up,  she  had  moved  again  away,  and  again  he  followed, 
walking  a  step  behind  her,  the  attitude  curiously  like  that  of  a 
servant.  But  if  his  humiliation  thus  weighed  on  him  insensibly, 
the  effect  was  but  transitory.  When  she  had  entered  the  little 
closed  porch  which  gave  admission  to  the  side  of  the  house,  he  mo 
tioned  to  her  to  stop,  and  it  was  the  Doctor  Broderip  whom  his 
outside  friends  knew,  that  stood  before  her ;  quiet,  reticent,  in  every 
motion  of  the  low,  trained  voice  and  small  features,  the  sign  of 
thorough,  controlled  breeding. 

"  I  will  leave  you  here,  Miss  Conrad." 

She  turned  and  waited,  facing  him,  the  light  which  came  through 
the  round  window  over  the  door,  falling  on  her  head,  and  the  half 
uncoiled  black  hair  wet  with  the  mist  on  her  neck. 

"  You  look  jaded  and  overworked.  You  need  rest,"  she  said, 
giving  utterance  to  the  safe,  kindly  surface-thought,  to  fill  up  the 
silence  between  them,  and  the  death  that  lay  in  it. 

"  It  is  nothing,  I  am  as  strong  as  other  men.  Except — I  have 
fought  my  battle  ill  to-day.  I  have  seemed  a  coward  to  you,  per 
haps,  or  even  melodramatic,"  forcing  a  smile. 

Her  lips  moved,  but  they  were  hot  and  parched.  They  made  no 
Bound. 

"  I  think  I  did  what  was  right."    The  words  fell  slowly  from  his 


202  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

mouth,  hardly  breaking  the  stillness,  his  eyes  turned  vacantly  c  ut 
to  the  far,  cloudy  sky.  He  did  not  seem  to  heed  that  she  made  no 
answer  ;  but  after  a  long  time  turned  to  her  with  his  look  searching 
and  eager  on  her  inscrutable  face. 

"  Will  you  trust  me  in  this  ?  That,  I  tried  to  do  what  was  best 
for  you,  and  for  me  ?  I  wish  that  you  could  giv*d  me  this  much 
comfort  to  take  back  with  me  into  my  life.  It  will  not  have  too 
much  of  comfort." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  a  cordial  heat  flashing  into  her  face  and 
tone.  "  I  do  trust  you.  Whatever  else  may  fail  you  in  the  world, 
I  believe  in  you.  No  other  man  has  seemed  to  me  in  soul  so 
manly." 

Fate  at  that  moment  rang  out  a  shrill  unexpected  note  of  triumph 
in  John  Broderip's  life.  The  man  rose  to  it  as  to  a  bugle  call. 
For  one  brief  space  the  poor  little  mask  of  his  body  dilated  and 
beamed  with  the  thrill  within.  Then  he  drew  back  from  her  with 
a  softened,  smiling  face,  and  tears  that  had  forced  their  way  into 
his  eyes. 

"  No  other  woman  would  have  said  that  after  what  I  had  done 
to-day.  It  means  more  than  you  can  ever  know — to  me.  It  will 
make  my  life  different  to  remember  it." 

"  Is  your  life,  then,  so  vacant  ?  "  she  said,  hastily,  as  though  some 
irrepressible  power  within  urged  the  words  out. 

He  paused  a  moment  thoughtfully.  "  No.  The  struggle  of  it 
has  had  payment  in  itself.  There  is  not  a  nerve  in  my  brain,  or 
fibre  in  my  body,  which  has  not  been  trained  and  worked.  That  is 
good,"  his  nostril  expanding,  his  breath  coming  quicker.  "  My 
profession  is  the  work  I  was  made  for.  And  they  cannot  hinder  me 
from  being  a  man,  as  you  called  me,  and  helping  other  men.  No, 
my  life  will  not  be  vacant." 

"  Helping  others  ?     That  is  work  I  never  thought  of." 

He  noted  with  his  physician's  eye  that  her  jaws  moved  mechanic 
ally,  that  the  blood  was  settling  under  her  eyes,  and  about  her 
chin  and  lips.  Could  it  be  that  the  parting  cost  her  anything  ?  " 

It  was  a  question  he  would  not  ask  himself. 

"  I  am  going  now,"  he  said.     "  I  shall  not  see  you  again." 

She  was  silent,  the  leaden,  impassive  eyes  looking  at  the  wall 
opposite  as  though  they  saw  nothing. 

"  I  will  be  out  of  the  city  for  some  time,"  a  sudden  thought  coming 
to  him,  "  and  before  I  return  you  will  have  gone." 

"It  is  probable." 

"  Tell  your  father,  Miss  Conrad,  that  I  never  could  accept  the 
custom  of  bidding  good-by.  What  does  it  matter?  He  knows  I 
am  his  friend — " 

"  And  mine." 

He  did  not  speak;  nor,  when  she  made  a  motion  to  again  hold 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  203 

out  her  hand  in  token  of  farewell,  did  he  take  it,  but  drew  still 
further  back,  with  the  old  gesture^  one  hand,  with  his  hat  in  it,  laid 
heavily  across  his  chest,  and  a  steeled,  self-controlled  look  in  his 
face,  new  to  Miss  Conrad,  but  which  patients  writhing  under  his 
knife  had  sometimes  seen  there. 

"  You  will  say  good-by  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  to  you."  He  moved  slightly,  after  a  moment,  and 
spoke  again,  but  still  without  looking  up.  "  The  word  means  a 
death-parting  to  me.  And  there  is  a  chance — though  but  one — 
that  I  shall  meet  you  again  in  this  world,  with  my  hands  free." 

"And  till  it  comes — " 

"  I  will  wait.     I  will  not  say  good-by." 

He  turned,  and  without  suffering  himself  one  look  at  her  face, 
went  with  quick  steps  across  the  fields  to  meet  the  approaching 
train.  Miss  Conrad  stood  quite  still  until  the  sound  of  the  light, 
uneven  footsteps  had  died  away ;  then  she  drew  herself  erect,  her 
dull  eyes  resting  on  the  distant  country  station-house,  and  the  small, 
gray-coated  figure  in  its  doorway,  until  the  thundering  train  came 
between  her  and  it,  and  halted  a  moment.  When  it  was  gone, 
nothing  remained  on  the  little  platform  but  a  cur  yelping  out  of  the 
dismal  rain.  She  turned  slowly  to  the  north,  where  the  long, 
sinuous  line  of  cars  wound  through  the  valley.  When  it  was  no 
longer  in  sight,  she  stood  tracing  the  drifting  smoke  across  the 
sky  until  it  faded  behind  the  clouds  of  the  nearing  storm ;  then 
she  pulled  her  cloak  up  on  her  shoulders  and  went  into  the  room 
where  Mr.  Conrad  waited  for  her. 

The  old  man's  vigil  had  been  a  long  and  a  happy  one.  Margaret 
never  had  planned  an  air  castle  in  her  life ;  but  the  sanguine,  riotous 
fancy  of  her  old  father  had  built  many  for  her,  but  never  one  so 
tender  and  beautiful  as  to-night.  All  the  red  blood  of  his  youth, 
all  the  love  for  one  good  woman  that  had  been  in  it,  warmed  again 
to  give  freshness  to  his  hopes  for  Meg.  His  keen  ear  had  caught 
their  first  steps  upon  the  porch  floor.  He  had  heard  the  low  mur- 
mur  with  a  broadening  smile  on  his  anxious  face  as  he  sat  with 
both  hands  on  his  knees  before  the  fire.  •  Presently  he  heard  her 
coming,  and  alone. 

"  She  would  have  nobody  tell  her  old  chum  but  herself,"  the 
smile  growing  more  wistful,  the  fingers  moving  softly  on  his  knees 
as  if  keeping  time  to  music.  Such  was  the  face  he  turned  toward 
her  when  she  opened  the  door.  But  he  asked  no  questions. 

"  Come  to  the  fire,  Meg.  Your  hair  is  wet,"  touching  it  gently 
as  she  half  knelt  on  the  rug  beside  him,  holding  her  hands  out  to 
warm  them,  leaning  one  arm  upon  his  knee.  Caresses  were  rare 
between  them ;  the  slight  action  signified  much.  He  stroked  the 
heavy  hair,  weighing  it  in  his  horny  hands. 

"  Quite  wet.     What  a  mane  you  have,  child  ! " 


204  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Like  yours,"  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  shaking  back  his  Indian,  black  locks.  "  I  used  to  say 
nature  had  run  you  through  the  same  mould  as  me  after  the  rough 
edges  was  worn  off.  We're  born  comrades." 

"  We  will  always  be  so." 

"  Well,  well,  perhaps !  unless — I  don't  expect  always  to  hold  the 
first  place,  Maggy." 

She  made  no  reply,  only  leaned  a  little  heavier  upon  his  knee. 

"  Where's  our  friend  ?  "  in  a  tone  which  he  tried  to  make  careless. 

"  Gone,"  in  her  usual,  steady  voice. 

His  pale,  high-featured  face  suddenly  drew  back,  intent,  watchful. 
"  This  was  one  of  his  holidays — " 

A  smile,  strangely  pitiful,  flickered  over  her  mouth. 

"He  is  coming  back  again  ?  " 

"  No."  With  an  effort  as  if  it  pained  her,  she  rose  from  off  his 
knee,  speaking  in  a  quick,  even  tone,  "  He  will  not  come  back.  He 
said  to  tell  you  that  you  knew  him  to  be  your  friend.  No  words 
of  farewell  would  prove  him  more." 

The  preacher  did  not  speak ;  he  drew  his  breath  hoarsely,  as  was 
his  wont  when  deeply  moved  or  enraged,  his  nostrils  contracted, 
his  eye  narrowed  and  shone,  his  teeth  showed  under  the  thin  upper 
lip.  His  face  always  had  an  odd  resemblance  to  a  watch  dog's : 
now  it  was  that  of  a  high-blooded  hound's,  panting  to  spring  upon 
its  prey.  He  sat  silent  for  some  time,  his  head  bent  forward  to  the 
fire.  But  passing  his  hand  over  her  head,  and  touching  her  fore 
head,  he  started,  the  look  in  his  face  giving  place  to  one  of  vague 
alarm.  The  flesh  was  icy  cold;  so  were  her  hands  when  he  took 
hem  and  kneaded  them  in  his  own.  The  girl  had  been  hurt  as 
never  before;  and  with  the  quick  instinct  of  real  affection,  he 
smothered  his  own  feeling  out  of  sight  sooner  than  add  a  sting  to 
hers.  "  She'd  sooner  die  than  show  her  own  father  her  pain,"  he 
thought.  Pie  continued  to  hold  the  strong,  white  hands  in  his  until 
he  thought  he  could  "  act  it  out,"  then  he  let  them  fall  carelessly. 

"  He  was  always  a  cranky,  whimsical  fellow,  that  Broderip,"  he 
said,  cheerfully.  "But  he  has  been  a  warm,  good  friend  to  us." 

"  Yes,"  rising  to  her  feet.     "He  is  so  still,  Hugh." 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  think  I'd  never  see  him  again.  We  may  chance 
to  do  it,  Meg." 

"  There  is  a  chance,  he  said.     Yes." 

"Eh?"  sharply,  then  recollecting  himself,  he  fell  back  into  his 
careless  tone.  "What  about  the  dog?"  nodding  to  the  tawny 
Russian  hound  that  lay  stretched  upon  the  rug.  "  It's  a  vallooable 
present.  I  don't  like  to  keep  it.  I  reckon  we  could  contrive  to 
Bend  it  to  him  through  the  Ottley's.  Did  he  speak  of  the  dog, 
Meg?" 

"No."     She  looked  down  at  the  brute's  large,  melancholy  eyes 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  205 

thai  followed  her's,  as  if  it  kept  jealous  watch  for  its  master.  "  But 
we  will  not  send  the  dog  back,  Hugh." 

"  No  ?  "  writhing,  suddenly.  "  Well,  as  you  please.  I  am  drowsy 
now,  child ;  if  you  have  anything  to  do  that  calls  you  out,  I'll  go  to 
sleep,"  and  drawing  out  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief  he  spread  it 
carefully  over  his  face,  stretching  out  his  feet  to  the  fire  and  folding 
his  hands  together.  Miss  Conrad,  according  to  her  habit,  lowered 
the  curtains  and  called  the  dog  out  of  the  room,  softly  closing  the 
door  after  her.  The  old  man,  when  it  was  shut,  sat  up  and  pulling 
the  covering  from  his  face  bent  it  again  over  the  fire.  He  had  only 
meant  to  give  her  a  reprieve  alone.  "  It's  the  first  time,  Meg,  that 
we  played  a  part,"  he  said.  "  We  was  poor  actors  at  it." 

Meanwhile,  the  girl,  with  swift,  noiseless  steps,  went  to  her  own 
chamber,  turning  in  the  half  open  door  to  look  down  at  the  hound 
which  had  followed  her,  and  whined  to  go  in.  She  pushed  him 
back  softly,  and  then  closing  the  door,  the  key  clicked  in  the  lock, 
and  she  was  quite  alone. 

The  slow,  steady  rain  that  followed  the  mist  shut  the  little 
farm-house  into  drearier  solitude.  All  afternoon  the  old  ma?) 
paced  up  and  down  the  room  in  his  perpetual  darkness,  with  no 
sound  but  the  patter  of  the  rain  upon  the  windows,  and  the  crumb 
ling  ashes  in  the  grate.  Paced  up  and  down  till  the  afternoon 
was  gone  and  night  set  in.  It  was  late,  and  Meg,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  had  forgotten  him,  he  thought.  But  she  came  at  last, 
and  in  a  moment  the  curtains  had  shut  out  the  dreary  storm, 
and  a  fresh  fire  was  leaping  and  kindling  on  the  hearth,  and  a 
cozy  little  table  was  being  made  ready,  by  old  Lotty,  for  supper. 
When  he  was  seated  at  it,  in  the  warmth  and  glow,  with 
Margaret's  cheery  tones  ringing  in  his  ear,  he  was  glad  to  put 
the  day  that  had  gone  before  out  of  sight,  as  a  wretched,  exagger 
ated  dream. 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  get  my  foot  on  our  own  sile  agen,"  he  said  heart 
ily,  as  they  were  going  to  bed.  "  People  is  more  in  earnest  for  love 
or  hate  with  us,  than  here,  I  think,  Meg  ?  They're  inside  of  life 
there,  and  they  work  away  at  it,  and  don't  stand  off  speculatin' 
about  it  and  themselves." 

"  I  will  be  glad  to  go  to  work,"  said  Margaret.  Her  father  had 
hold  of  her  wrist  as  she  guided  him  up  the  stairs.  It  gave  him  a 
triumphant  satisfaction  to  think  how  strong  the  muscles  were  and 
full  the  pulse,  and  how  clear  and  powerful  the  brain  above  it. . 

"Will  you  now?  That's  healthy  and  brave.  You've  got  the 
strength  and  capacity  of  a  dozen  women,  and  there's  just  that  much 
more  hearty  work  and  pleasure  waiting  for  you.  There's  many 
doors  in  the  world  for  you  to  open,  besides —  "  he  hesitated ;  "  that 
one  that  women  set  such  store  by." 

He  could  not  see  that  she  did  not  answer  his  smile.     "  Yes,  I 


206  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

know,  Hugh,"  cheerfully,  helping  him  off  with  his  cravat.  "  Good 
night.  I'll  have  work  enough  for  you  to-morrow.  You  must  help 
pack  the  books,  and  there's  class-meeting  at  night." 

"  That's  true,  that's  true !  I'll  give  Brother  Berkett  a  parting 
blizzard  on  that  idee  of  his,  that'll  settle  him,  I  reckon !  "  She  left 
him  now,  knowing  that  his  waking  dreams  would  be  sweetened  by 
the  flavor  of  this  coming  fight.  Whether  it  ended  in  victory  or 
defeat  did  not  so  much  matter.  It  was  the  wrestle  that  he  relished. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN   COUNCIL. 

MK.  CONEAD  found  that  he  was  welcomed  in  the  bounds  of  his 
old  circuit  as  if  he  had  met  a  victory  instead  of  defeat.  Worldly 
success  is  but  little  successful  with  the  warm-hearted,  bigoted 
Methodists.  The  old  preacher,  blind  and  poor,  belonged  more  to 
them  than  when  he  was  the  well-to-do  owner  of  the  Page  proper 
ties  in  Kentucky.  Besides,  exhorting  and  praying,  he  grappled 
with  the  devil  as  though  he  were  a  man  more  skilful  but  not  quite  as 
strong  as  himself;  he  brought  the  real  Christ  with  a  turmoil  of 
V  shrieks  and  prayers,  and  cries  of  "  glory  !  "  into  their  very  lecture- 
rooms  and  churches.  He  opened  up  hell  alongside  of  their  daily 
paths,  and  made  its  most  secret  horrors  visible  as  the  nearest  oil- 
well.  He  could  have  spent  a  year  going  from  house  to  house  as 
welcome  as  the  old  prophet  long  ago,  whose  chamber  was  set  apart 
for  him. 

But  after  a  few  days  of  heavy  turkey-dinners  and  heavier  oyster- 
suppers,  which  he  enjoyed  to  his  heart's  core,  the  old  man  (secretly 
prompted  by  his  daughter,  they  suspected,)  began  to  rebel;  sum 
moned  a  caucus,  as  he  called  it,  of  the  members  of  conference,  to 
determine  as  to  his  future  course.  There  were  half  a  dozen  of  them 
gathered  in  the  little  country  parlor.  Miss  Conrad  sat  sewing  by 
the  window,  gravely  listening  to  the  usual  talk,  half  anecdote  and 
half  harangue,  which  her  father  led  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  his 
face  full  of  zest,  turning  sagaciously  from  one  speaker  to  the  other. 
They  had  made  a  proposal  to  give  him  a  station  in  the  conference, 
and  charge  of  a  small  church. 

"  But,  brethren,"  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  Meg  and  I  could  not 
live  on  that  salary.  We  should  be  in  debt  at  the  end  of  the  year.' 

"  It  can  be  done,  surely,  with  economy,"  said  a  brisk,  pale  young 
man,  fumbling  his  white  cravat.  "  And  I  need  not  say  to  one  of 
the  oldest  workers  in  the  Lord's  vineyard  that  we  do  not  purpose 
to  make  worldly  gain  thereby." 

"Besides,"  said  an  old,  brawny-built  brother,  with  a  meaning 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  207 

wink,  "  your  daughter  is  a  likely,  personable  young  girl.  She'll  not 
be  a  burden  on  you  long ;  and  in  a~  short  time,  Brother  Conrad,  I 
hope  to  succeed  in  having  you  placed  upon  the  superannuated 
list." 

Margaret,  who  had  heard  the  first  part  of  the  sentence  unmoved, 
looked  up  hastily  at  this  and  half  rose,  going  to  her  father.  But 
t  did  not  wound  him.  He  lifted  his  square,  sallow  face,  turning  it 
thoughtfully  on  the  speaker.  "  Old  and  disabled  ?  I'm  not  that, 
Brother  Fisher.  If  the  Lord  laid  this  on  me,"  touching  his  eyes, 
"he  meant  me  not  to  skulk  out  of  sight  with  it,  but  shoulder  the 
cross  and  keep  step.  As  for  that  offer  of  the  charge,  I  hardly  know 
what  to  say,"  hesitating.  "  I'll  leave  it  to  Meg,"  turning  sharply 
to  her. 

Now,  Miss  Conrad  was  in  bad  repute  in  her  father's  church-mem 
bership.  She  sat  unmoved  as  a  stone  during  the  fiercest  exhorta 
tions;  looked  at  the  spasmodic  trances  and  raptures  of  the  other 
females  without  even  curiosity  in  her  face ;  seldom  joined  in  the 
hymns.  "  Why  should  she  ?  she  was  not  in  despair  or  rejoicing. 
Why  should  she  sing  a  lie  to  God?"  Her  father  hinted  to  them 
that  God  might  some  day  manifest  Himself  to  the  girl  in  a  way 
they  knew  not ;  her  temperament  was  peculiar.  But  the  brethren 
were  obdurate.  There  was  but  one  door,  that  of  conversion ;  she 
could  not  climb  in  as  a  thief  by  some  other  way.  Indeed,  many 
believed  that  she  was  a  female  Pharoah,  whose  heart  God  had  wil 
fully  hardened,  and  that  her  day  of  grace  was  past.  It  was  with 
no  good-will,  therefore,  they  saw  the  offer  they  had  made  referred 
to  her  decision ;  and  saw,  too,  how  calmly  she  accepted  the  respon 
sibility,  quietly  folding  up  her  finished  sewing  before  she  spoke, 
slowly,  and  looking  straight  at  the  oldest  brother. 

"I  do  not  look  at  this  matter  as  you  do,"  she  said.  "Either  my 
father  should  work  gratuitously  for  God,  with  the  right  to  earn  his 
own  living,  or,  if  you  undertake  to  give  him  that,  you  should  give 
him  enough  to  insure  him  from  want.  As  for  the  superannuated 
list,  you  have  no  right  to  insult  a  man  with  charity  whom  you  do 
not  properly  pay  for  work." 

An  ominous  silence  followed  the  words.  She  gave  a  quick  glance 
to  her  father,  and  perceiving  by  the  half  smile  and  flush  on  his 
cheek  that  he  did  not  mean  to  rebuke  her,  continued,  as  she  rose 
from  her  chair. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  interfere  in  Mr.  Conrad's  relations  with  his 
conference.  But  my  plan  would  be,  for  him,  with  my  help,  to  begin 
farming  or  fruit-raising,  and  give  what  time  he  could  to  the  good 
cause,  receiving  no  pay  for  it,  and  coming  under  no  contract  with  any 
church."  She  went  out  when  she  had  done,  without  waiting  for  any 
answer;  a  little  relieved  to  hear  old  Brother  Fisher's  joking  voice 
and  a  goorl-humored  laugh  as  she  closed  the  door. 


208  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

When  her  father  came  to  her,  soon  afterward,  he  was  rubbing 
his  hands  with  glee.  "Seems  as  if  you  was  prophetic  in  them 
words  of  yours,  Meg.  Here's  a  letter  which  young  Maynard  had 
in  his  pocket,  and  which  he  said  likely  bore  on  that  farm  project, 
and  was  a  good  opening  for  us." 

"  You  will  adopt  my  plan  then,  sir  ?  "  eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  will.  I've  always  been,  in  a  certain  sense,  free-footed, 
and  I'll  do  no  less  work  on  the  Lord's  ground  for  knowing  I'm  to 
get  no  wages  for  it.  Some  of  them  underpaid  brethren  thought 
your  idees  had  saving  salt  in  them,  I  reckon,  Meg,"  with  a  chuckle. 
"But  let's  hear  the  letter." 

"  It  is  the  Markle  farm,"  she  said,  glancing  over  it. 

"  A  first-rate  patch  of  ground,  setting  aside  the  woodland,"  eagerly. 
"  Read  it,  read  it." 

When  she  had  finished  the  letter,  which  was  an  offer  to  let  the 
farm,  as  the  writer  was  going  to  join  his  brother  in  the  army,  and 
wished  to  leave  the  property  in  safe  hands,  the  old  man  looked  puz 
zled.  "  That's  onprecedented  low  rent,  Meg.  I  don't  understand 
it.  The  Markle  land  ought  to  bring  in  double  that.  So  George  s 
gone  to  the  army !  They're  fine  boys,  them  Markles !  Stock 
and  implements,  eh  ?  And  the  house  furnished  ?  Do  you  think  we 
can  kerry  it,  Meg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do ; "  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  paper,  the  pallid  cheeks 
strangely  mellowing  in  tint  as  she  looked. 

"  That'll  be  a  snug  home,  and  work  direct  into  our  hands.  But 
it's  an  extr'odinary  low  lease !  What's  that  he  says  about  '  my 
agent  ? '  I  suppose  it's  some  of  the  brethren  hes  mentioned  to 
him  we  thought  of  locating  hereabouts,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  it  was  one  of  the  brethren,"  folding  the  letter 
slowly,  while  the  furrow  deepened  in  her  forehead,  and  her  mouth 
shut,  thin  and  straight.  "Will  you  accept  the  offer,  sir?" 

"  Ondoubtedly  !     Why,  don't  you  see  the  advantage  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see  the  advantage." 

"What  d'ye  mean,  Meg?"  impatiently.  "Did  you  read  the 
whole  of  the  letter  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  read  it  all,  father." 

"What  then?  Have  you  any  objections  to  my  accepting  the 
offer?" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once ;  stood,  drawn  to  her  full  height,  look 
ing  down  at  the  paper  which  she  had  creased  and  folded  in  her 
hands  with  stern,  absent  eyes.  Once  or  twice  she  moved  irreso 
lutely,  as  if  she  would  have  thrown  it  passionately  from  her ;  but 
she  turned  to  him  at  last. 

"ISTo,  I  do  not  object." 

"It  is  a  very  friendly  offer,  I  take  it." 

"  It  is  friendly.     I  have  no  right  to  refuse." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  209 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  pleased,  child.  We'll  soon  have  a  roof  over 
our  heads,  then,  please  God." 

When  he  had  bustled  out  to  consult  some  of  the  brethren,  she 
threw  up  the  window  to  breathe  the  fresh  air.  There  had  been 
times  in  her  life  when  so  eager  was  she  to  be  independent,  to  stand 
acquitted  of  every  favor  given  her,  that  she  had  felt  as  if  this  very 
air,  her  life  itself,  was  an  unpaid  debt  which  weighed  her  down. 
So  far,  she  owed  no  man  anything :  but  as  for  God,  no  tranced  vis 
ionary  in  her  church  felt  His  gifts  countless  as  motes  in  the  sun 
shine,  or  His  infinite  tenderness  press  in  and  touch  her  with  such 
keen  reality,  as 'blunt,  unimaginative  Margaret  Conrad.  The  only 
sense  of  sin  she  had,  perhaps,  was,  that  she  had  made  no  return ; 
was  the  consciousness  of  the  great  unmalleable  power  within 
her,  unused  and  decaying.  "  If  I  could  justify  my  right  to  live, 
if  I  had  work  to  do — that  is  religion  I  could  understand,"  she  had 
said  once  to  her  father. 

But  it  seemed  to  her  to-day  as  if  she  were  always  forced  to  be 
passive :  helpless  now,  while  the  man  who  would  not  ask  from  her 
even  love  guarded  her.  She  read  the  letter  again :  turned  it  over, 
her  face  varying,  as  if  its  formal  business  words  and  blank  sheet 
were  imbued  with  a  meaning  uiat  touched  her  as  humor  nor  pathos 
had  ever  done  before ;  finally,  she  laid  it  on  the  fire,  accepting  the 
obligation  it  had  carried  to  her  with  the  grim,  thankless  reticence 
of  an  Indian. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  refuse,"  she  muttered.  "  I  cannot '  hinder  him 
from  being  a  man,  and  helping  other  men.' " 


14 


s 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

OLD     JOE'S     DEFEAT. 

OUTHWARK ;  which  means  a  wholesome  outbreak  of  prinii 
tive  vagabond  blood  on  the  face  of  the  Quaker  City;  a  corner 
of  it  which  has  not  been  weighted  down  by  old  traditions  into 
hopeless  and  genteel  dulness :  where  the  wearisome  ghost  of  Penn, 
the  just,  is  decently  laid:  where  the  legends  of  Franklin  or  his 
kite  are  unknown,  though  old  stories  prevail  of  tropical  lightnings 
that  tore  apart  ropper-bottomed  vessels,  and  of  storms  off  every 
known  coast;  for  to  these  men,  thronging  in  daily  from  all  far, 
vague  haunts  of  the  world — from  lands  of  ice  and  snow,  from  lands 
of  silent,  gigantic  tree-growths,  with  centuries  of  rank  verdure 
smouldered  down  into  their  hot  colors  and  smells;  from  lands  of 
vast  sandy  levels  and  flat  copper  sky,  where  the  old  age  of  the 
earth  is  seated,  palsied  and  immovable,  grim  and  voiceless  as  the 
Sphynx ;  from  lands  glutted  and  teeming  with  insignificant,  abor 
tive  human  lives ;  from  the  fresh,  fair,  green  valleys  of  sea  islands, 
which  have  been  fresh  and  fair  since  the  day  when  God  first  called 
them  good — to  these  men  the  yesterday's  antiquity  of  Penn  and 
his  purchase,  or  the  flat,  river-locked  mass  of  red-brick  houses,  are 
not  apt  to  be  impressive  or  memorable. 

They  bring  their  own  atmosphere  with  them  ;  it  has  an  ancient 
salty  whiff  of  sea  winds  in  it  that  impregnates  the  whole  district : 
the  houses,  the  women  who  never  were  aboard  ship,  have  suffered 
the  sea  change :  the  very  boys  affect  pea-jackets  and  sou'westers, 
and  are  of  a  general  tarry  flavor.  There  is  a  frontage  to  the  streets 
on  &e  river  of  huge  ship-yards  ;  the  streets  themselves  are  narrow, 
crowded  with  sail-lofts  and  junk  shops;  there  are  mammoth  engine 
factories ;  there  are  old,  towering  ship-chandleries  and  warehouses 
of  sea  stores ;  there  are  dusky  little  lanes  lined  with  slow-growing 
gardens,  whose  paths  are  paved  with  shells,  about  low  houses  in 
fested  by  parrots,  cats  of  strange  breeds  from  beyond  seas,  and 
superannuated,  tobacco-skinned  old  captains  and  men-of-war's  men, 
demigods  among  the  lower  hordes  of  sailors,  calkers  and  riggers. 

In  Southwark,  facing  a  pier  which  abutted  on  the  Delaware,  was 
a  wide  wooden  building,  beside  which,  from  the  top  of  a  ship's 
mast,  a  flag  floated  constantly  during  the  years  of  the  civil  war. 
At  the  close  of  a  night  in  the  Spring  of  '62,  its  red  and  blue,  blown 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  211 

by  the  wind  that  preceded  dawn,  were  hardly  visible  through  the 
heavy  shadows :  shadows  which  penetrated  inside  to  the  one  room 
filled  with  tables  laid  for  a  thousand  guests,  and  beyond  that  to 
huge  kitchens,  where  were  smouldering  fires,  and  meats  and  bread 
waiting  to  be  served.  But  neither  host  nor  guests  were  visible 
the  great  empty  house  might  have  been  but  a  coarse  temple  to  hos 
pitality,  where  the  votive  fires  were  made  to  burn  perpetually. 

When  the  thick  fog  on  the  low  Jersey  shore  began  to  lift,  how 
ever,  and  a  chilly  light  to  creep  through  it  at  intervals,  the  far-off 
thunder  of  a  train  was  heard,  and  was  answered  by  a  cannon  plant 
ed  at  the  foot  of  the  mast. 

Presto!  hosts  and  cooks  appeared,  eager  and  ready;  the  fires 
sprang  obedient  into  life ;  old  men,  anxious  housekeepers,  and  tidy, 
fresh  young  girls  went  from  table  to  table,  heaping  them  as  if  each 
coming  guest  were  a  Benjamin,  and  had  a  brother's  claim  to  wel 
come  ;  the  crisp  bread  never  seemed  so  flaky,  the  yellow  butter 
came  out  of  its  leafy  covers,  the  red  juice  started  from  the  great 
hams,  the  hot  steam  of  coffee  came  in  in  trailing  whiffs  through  the 
open  door.  The  train  came  nearer  and  stopped,  the  busy  hands 
moved  quicker,  and  the  faces  were  turned  anxiously  to  the  door. 
Only  one  woman  was  quiet :  old  Friend  Blanchard,  who  had  alight 
ed  from  her  carriage  a  moment  after  the  report  of  the  cannon,  and 
stood  now,  waiting,  by  the  stove,  the  red  light  of  which  fell 
squarely  on  her  white  hair .  and  sharp,  nervous  features.  The  door 
opened,  and  the  guests  came  in.  It  took  them  a  long  time  to  defile 
past  her  slowly,  and  seat  themselves  in  silence  at  the  long  tables; 
but,  as  she  watched  them,  her  wrinkled  lips  trembled,  and  the  tears 
rose  to  her  keen  eyes. 

"  '  When  thou  makest  a  feast,'  "  she  repeated  silently,  " c  call  the 
poor,  the  maimed,  the  lame,  the  blind.  For  they  cannot  recom 
pense  thee ;  but  thou  shalt  be  recompensed  at  the  resurrection  of 
the  just.' " 

She  stood  without  moving  for  several  minutes,  scanning  each 
haggard  face  up  and  down  the  long  lines,  her  own  growing  paler 
as  she  looked. 

"  I  had  not  thought,"  she  said  to  a  young  physician  near  her, 
"  that  there  were  so  many  ways  of  torturing  the  human  body." 

"These  men  are  from  a  hospital  in  Washington,"  he  said. 
"  Almost  every  kind  of  gun-shot  wound  is  represented.  They  are 
on  their  way  to  other  hospitals — some  of  them  to  their  homes." 

"  The  man  I  came  to  meet,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still  passing  rapidly 
over  their  faces,  "  is  not  here.  He  was  coming  home." 

"  An  old  man,  Madam  ?  Burley  by  name  ?  "  asked  a  woman  who 
had  stopped  near  her. 

"  Yes.     Thee  knows  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  We  have  beds  in  a  room  above.     The  old  man  was  exhausted 


212  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

b/  his  journey,  and  we  carried  him  there.  He  said  his  friends  were 
to  meet  him  here.  I  will  lead  you  to  him." 

Friend  Blanchard  followed  her  up  a  narrow  flight  of  wooden 
steps  to  a  small,  whitewashed  chamber,  with  half  a  dozen  pallets 
ranged  against  the  wall.  But  one  was  occupied.  As  her  head  rose 
above  the  stairs,  she  saw  old  Joe's  face,  miserably  gaunt  and  hag 
gard,  lifted  above  the  pillow.  He  was  resting  on  his  elbow,  listen 
ing  intently,  while  the  unbuttoned  shirt-collar  showed  his  fleshless 
neck  and  the  slow,  laborious  effort  which  every  breath  cost. 

"  No,  I  don't  chew,  comrade,"  he  said,  as  an  old  fellow  sitting  by 
him  proffered  him  some  tobacco.  "  Besides,  I  wouldn't  foul  my 
breath  jest  now.  I  expect  a  little  gal  every  minute — my  grand- 
da'ater  " — his  eyes  fixed  on  a  door  by  which  he  supposed  she  would 
enter. 

"It's  some  time  since  you  seen  her?"  asked  the  other,  care 
lessly. 

"  It's  two  months  and  ten  days,"  promptly.  "  You'd  better  go 
down  and  get  your  supper,  Trumbull.  That  coffee  smells  different 
from  our  cookery." 

"  I'll  not  leave  you  till  your  friends  come,  Joe.  Onless  I  can 
bring  you  a  cup  ?  "  half  rising. 

"  No.  I  feel  the  want  of  it,  too.  But  Rossline  '11  have  my  break 
fast  ready,  and  I'd  not  disappint  her,"  his  eyes  growing  bright  in 
their  dark  hollows. 

He  turned  his  head,  and,  catching  sight  of  the  Quakeress  coming 
up  from  the  stairs,  dragged  himself  up  higher  to  peer  behind  her, 
a  blank  look  of  disappointment  clouding  his  face  when  he  saw  that 
no  one  followed.  He  smothered  it  out  of  sight  in  a  moment, 
though,  with  his  instinct  of  courtesy,  holding  out  his  hand,  smiling, 
as  she  came  to  the  bed. 

"  I  counted  on  seein'  you  at  the  house,  Madam ;  but  not  here. 
It's  too  aiiy,  and  too  bleak  a  mornin'  for  you  to  ventur  out.  My 
little  gal  did  not  know  I  was  comin',  of  course  ?  " 

"  No,  she  did  not.  I  did  not  even  know  thee  was  wounded  until 
last  night." 

"  No.  I  kep  it  quiet.  On  Rossline's  account.  You  see  my  life 
hung  on  a  thread  there  in  camp  for  weeks,  and  she  couldn't  hev 
reached  me.  What  was  the  good  of  frettin'  the  child  ?  Soon's  the 
doctor  said  I'd  took  a  turn,  and  needed  only  careful  nursin',  a  friend 
of  mine  (Markle's  his  name — Leftenant  Markle)  he  gits  me  a  fur 
lough.  'You  go  home,  Joe,'  says  he.  'You're  as  homesick  for 
that  little  gal  of  yours  as  a  mother  fur  her  babby.  You'll  never 
be  a  sound  man  till  you  see  her.'  That  was  jest  his  joke,  but  it 
wur  nigh  about  the  truth,"  with  a  laugh.  "But  Rossline  didn't 
know  I  was  comin'  ?  "  anxiously. 

"  No ;  she   spent   last   night   in   town,  and   thy  telegram  was 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  213 

brought  out  to  me  too  late  to  warn  her.  I  left  orders  to  have  thy 
room  made  ready,  and  when  she  comes  it  will  be  a  surprise  for  her." 

"  That's  so  !  "  with  a  delighted  chuckle.  "  I'm  obleeged  to  you, 
Madam.  It'll  be  somethin'  Rossline  didn't  expect,  to  see  her  gran- 
iad,  to-day  !  Well,"  moving  restlessly  on  the  bed,  "  shall  we  go  ?  " 

Fiiend  Blanchard  had  seated  herself  placidly  beside  him. 
*  There  is  no  haste.  Rosslyn  will  not  go  out  to  the  farm  until  nine, 
and  if  I  might  advise  thee,  thee  would  not  brave  this  untempered 
morning  air.  Wait  until  the  sun  warms  it  for  an  hour.  Here  is 
Jiy  breakfast,"  turning  to  a  lady,  who  came  up  the  stairs,  with  a 
covered  tray. 

Joe's  eyes  grew  brighter  at  the  sight  of  the  hot  coffee  and  meat. 
"  I'm  main  hungry,  there's  no  denyin',"  pulling  himself  up  to  a  sit 
ting  posture.  "So,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  ladies" — and  he  fell  to 
work,  drinking  their  healths  with  every  gulp  of  coffee,  by  way  of 
atoning  for  his  incivility. 

"When  thee  has  done,  thee  will  tell  me  about  thy  wound,  Friend 
Joseph  ?  "  asked  the  Quakeress. 

Burley  nodded;  but  secretly  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing 
Ross  to  know  that  it  was  her  brother's  hand  that  had  wounded 
him.  While  he  munched  his  sandwiches,  therefore,  he  was  plan 
ning  how  to  evade  their  inquiries. 

"  Ther's  nothin'  to  tell,"  he  said,  wiping  his  mouth  at  last,  and 
pushing  his  plate  from  him.  "  I  wur  outside  of  the  lines,  and  wur 
took  by  a  stray  shot.  Markle,  he  pulled  the  skift  home  to  camp. 
That's  all  ther'  wur  of  it."  When  they  were  alone,  he  raised  him 
self  again  on  his  arm  eagerly.  "  It's  an  hour  yet  till  we  kin  go, 
Madam.  I'd  be  obleeged  to  you  to  tell  me  somethin'  of  Rossline — 
any  little  thing  she's  done  or  said.  Ther's  nothin'  about  her  that  I 
wouldn't  keer  to  know." 

Now  there  was  an  odd  affinity  between  these  two,  in  a  something 
which  hid  under  the  old  Quakeress'  trained  cynicism,  and  Burley's 
simplicity,  which  took  him  through  life  out  of  one  day  into  another 
with  as  dogged,  heavy  footstep  as  that  of  one  of  his  old  roadsters. 
They  stood  at  ease  with  each  other,  always ;  so  that  Ross,  whose 
tact  and  insight  were  keen,  never  had  even  remembered,  when  they 
came  together,  that  one  was  a  fine  lady  and  the  other  a  laborer. 
Now,  however,  there  was  a  perceptible  restraint  in  Friend  Blanch- 
ard's  manner  ;  she  hesitated,  hearing  his  question,  keeping  her  eyes 
on  his,  uneasy  and  watchful,  before  replying. 

"  Thee  did  not  receive  my  letter,  then,  Friend  Joseph  V  " 

"  I  received  no  letter,"  a  startled  look  driving  away  the  smile. 
"  What  is  amiss  ?  Is  the  gal  ill  ?  You  did  not  deceive  me  jest 
now —  " 

"  She  is  well ;  I  never  knew  her  sounder  in  mind  or  body ;  thee 
may  believe  me.  And  so  full  of  affectionate,  pure,  silly  fancies,  so 


214  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

ready  with  her  laugh  or  her  tears,  so  changed  from  the  Ross  Burley 
of  a  year  ago,  that  I  fancy  at  times  she  must  be  breathing  some  air 
different  from  ours,  fuller  of  vigor  and  sunshine." 

A  quizzical  smile  crept  over  Burley's  haggard  face.     "  That's  a 

I     curous,  womanish  notion.     Yet  I   kin  understand   how  it  would 

grow  out  of  hearin'  and  seein'  Rossline.     But  I  think,  Madam,  you 

have  somethin'  to  tell  me  beyond  that  ?  "  with  a  keen  scrutiny  of 

her  face. 

"  Yes.  I  wrote  to  thee.  I  did  not  speak  to  Rosslyn  before  do 
ing  so.  I  felt  that  although  thee  never,  in  words,  put  her  in  my 
care,  I  was  her  guardian,  and  in  a  measure  responsible  to  thee  and 
to  God  for  her." 

Burley  nodded  slowly,  drawing  himself  up  on  his  pillow,  breath 
ing  heavily,  in  his  intentness  on  her  words. 

"  I  have  not  even  spoken  to  Rosslyn  of  her  danger.  I  did  all  I 
could  to  ward  it  off— I  can  acquit  myself  of  blame.  But  now,  it  is 
too  late—  " 

"  Will  you  use  plain  words,  Madam  ?  "  said  Burley,  a  smothered 
fierceness  in  his  undertone.  "  What  is  the  gal's  danger  ?  " 

"  Only  that  which  besets  all  women  " — with  a  forced  smile — 
"  love.  But,  for  Rosslyn  " —  She  stopped  abruptly. 

Burley,  to  her  surprise,  made  no  answer.  Once  before  in  his  life  he 
had  a  young  girl's  fate  mixed  with  his  own.  When  he  remembered 
"Marget"  now  his  face  grew  more  gaunt  and  older,  his  wrinkled 
lips  shut  straight  and  thin,  his  head  sank  slowly,  wearily  down. 

"  Ther's  no  use  of  my  cornparin'  Rossline  with  my  experience  of 
other  women,"  he  said  at  last.  "  She's  made  of  different  clay.  I 
beg  yer  pardon,  Madam,"  remembering  the  Quakeress,  and  glancing 
toward  her.  "  I  was  thinkin'  of  matters  you  are  not  acquainted 
with." 

Friend  Blanchard,  who  read  his  stupid  old  heart  as  if  it  lay  bare 
before  her,  bowed  with  a  vacant  incomprehensive  face. 

"  Is  it  an  honest-meanin'  man  that  has  won  my  little  gal's  good' 
will  ?  "  he  asked  presently  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice.  "  Kin  he  give 
her  as  honorable,  stiddy  love  as  her's  will  be  ?  " 

"  I  know  no  man  more  honorable  in  feeling  and  purpose  than 
Garrick  Randolph,"  she  replied.  "  Even  his  family  traditions  are  a 
safeguard  to  him :  the  Randolphs  are  a  good  stock." 

Burley  moved  impatiently.  "  Blood's  a  thing  I  don't  set  store 
by.  I've  always  bin  thankful  to  God  that  he  allowed  Rossline  to 
favor  them  of  her  kin  that  were  counted  vulgar.  Ef  the  man's  got 
clean  hands  and  heart  to  give  my  grandda'ater,  I'd  rayther  he  did 
not  belong  to  the  class  as  calls  theirselves  gentlemen.  I  owe  you 
an  apology  perhaps,  Madam,"  after  a  pause  ;  "  but  it's  a  prejudice 
I  have." 

Friend  Blanchard  never  combated  a  prejudice ;  she  smiled,  ab- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  215 

sently,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  motionless  hands  crossed  on  her  lap, 
but  the  perplexity  and  distress  deepened  on  her  delicate,  thin  face. 

"  Rossline's  edication  hes  been  different  from  the  run  of  Burleys," 
pursued  Joe,  anxiously.  "  I've  bed  my  doubts  ef  it  was  fur  the 
best,  but  doubts  wur  of  no  use ;  so  it  is ;  now,  if  she  feels  that  the 
Good  Man  bids  her  choose  this  young  fellar  out  from  all  the  world,  ^ 
and  cleave  to  him,  lovin'  him  as  God  loved  her,  I've  no  word  to  say 
agen  it :  though  his  thoughts  mayn't  be  my  thoughts  nor  his  words 
my  words.  Only,"  and  his  black  eye  kindled  dangerously  under 
the  shaggy  brows,  "  let  him  take  care  how  he  uses  the  gal  ill ! 
Rossline's  more  to  me  than  any  man  or  woman  ever  was.  More'n 
the  wife  an'  da'ater  of  my  youth ;  when  they  wur  with  me  I  hed 
other  things  to  sheer  in  my  thoughts.  I  was  keen  to  make  money 
then.  I  was  keen  for  my  Sunday's  pleasuring ;  I  liked  my  grog 
over  much,  too.  But  them  things  wur  growin'  stale  when  Ross 
come :  she's  took  their  place — she's  took  the  place  of  everything. 
It's  got  so  now,  Madam,  that  she's  the  only  real  live  thing  in  the  ft, 
world  to  me,  an'  the  rest's  a  sort  of  dumb  show.  If  she  were  hurt 
or  took  from  me,  I  think  I'd  crumble  away,  like  an  old  tree  when 
the  sap's  drawed  out  of  it." 

The  Quakeress  remained  silent :  for  once  in  her  life  words  gen 
tle  yet  strong  enough  to  convey  her  meaning  failed  her.  Burley 
watched  her  sharply,  shifting  his  wounded  body  painfully. 

"Ther's  some'at  you  hold  back,"  he  said  at  last,  sternly;  "ef  it 
concerns  my  little  gal,  I  think  I've  a  right  to  know  it." 

"  Yes.  One  object  I  had  in  keeping  thy  arrival  a  secret  from 
Ross,  was  that  I  might  speak  to  thee  alone.  But  I  find  it  hard  to 
make  my  thoughts  plain.  Thee  said,  'If  God  made  these  two 
young  people  for  each  other  ? '  I  doubt  if  that  is  the  case." 

"  There's  somethin'  lackin'  to  the  young  man,  then  ?  " 

Friend  Blanchard's  lips  moved  once  or  twice,  her  brows  contract 
ing  with  a  puzzled  anxiety,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  Praps  I  kin  onderstand,"  said  Joe,  with  a  feeble  smile.  "  The 
young  fellar's  bin  wild  ?  he  likes  his  glass  or  a  game  at  cards  ? 
Women's  hard  judges  when  they  grow  old,  just  as  they're  too  lax 
younger.  I  wouldn't  be  sartin  that  it  wur  right  to  separate  them 
that  true  love  hed  jined  fur  that.  Love's  a  great  Gospel  preacher, 
Madam.  And  the  man  can't  be  bad  in  the  grain  that  my  Rossline's 
drawed  to  above  all  others." 

"  Thee  is  wrong,"  speaking  quickly  and  firmly.  "  Young  Ran 
dolph's  life  has  been  singularly  clean  and  pure.  The  difficulty  lies 
here :  that  his  ideas  of  the  value  of  blood  are  different  from  thine 
— or  mine.  It  is  not  the  honesty  or  integrity  of  a  race  he  recog 
nizes  so  much  as  their  age  and  position.  He  loves  Rosslyn  with  all 
the  strength  of  his  nature,  but  he  does  not  know  that  there  is  any 
reason  why  his  education  should  interfere  with  his  love.  He  does 


216  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

not  know,"  she  hesitated  and  colored,  "  that  there  is  any  difference 
in  a  worldly  view  between  her  family  and  his  own." 

Burley  set  up  erect  on  the  pallet  as  she  proceeded,  the  unkempt, 
white  hair  pushed  back  from  his  set,  gaunt  face.  No  trace  of  anger 
had  crossed  it ;  he  looked  up  quiet  and  grave  when  she  had  done. 
"Them  prejudices  seems  paltry  to  me :  ther's  nothin'  in  them.  Hes 
Rossline  wilfully  deceived  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  eagerly.  "  She  has,  I  believe,  had  no  chance  to  explain, 
He  never  has  formally  asked  for  her  hand ;  he  has  been  in  Wash* 
ington  for  several  weeks.  But  to-day  he  is  to  return,  and  in  this 
note,  which  I  received  yesterday,  he  asks  my  leave  to  address  her." 
She  opened  and  gave  it  to  him.  "  He  looks  upon  me  as  her  guar 
dian,  thee  will  perceive." 

She  was  surprised  to  notice  that  the  old  wagoner's  face  colored 
like  a  girl's  when  he  took  the  letter,  and  that  a  quaint,  sorrowful 
smile  came  into  his  eyes,  though  not  upon  his  lips.  The  love  of  hia 
little  girl  and  all  that  concerned  it  seemed  to  him,  she  saw,  a  thing 
unutterably  sacred  and  pure.  He  read  the  letter  again  and  again 
attentively.  At  last,  folding  it  carefully  in  its  first  creases,  he  laid 
it  gently  down,  covering  it  with  his  hand. 

"  That  is  true  love,"  half  under  his  breath.  "  I'm  satisfied  with 
the  man  that  wrote  that  letter." 

Abigail  Blanchard  checked  the  words  upon  her  tongue,  perceiv 
ing  that  his  head  had  bent  on  his  breast,  and  an  expression  had 
settled  in  his  face  wrhich  she  could  not  interpret. 

"  I  think  thee  would  approve  of  Randolph  if  thee  saw  him,"  she 
ventured,  at  length. 

"Yes,  them  is  genooine  words,"  absently,  without  raising  his 
head.  Something  in  the  old,  half-hidden  face  touched  her  painfully. 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Can  I  help  thee  ?  " 

Even  then  he  did  not  look  up  for  a  moment.  When  he  did,  it 
was  with  a  grave  smile.  "  I  was  thinking  that  no  thin'  stood  be 
tween  Rossline  and  her  good  fortin  but  her  old  grandad.  I  never 
thought  it  would  come  to  that." 

The  old  lady's  thin  cheeks  grew  red.  "  Thee  deceives  thyself. 
Thee  does  not  understand." 

"  I  think  I  do,"  quietly.  "  I've  looked  for'ard  to  this  matter  afore, 
but  it  always  seemed  onreal  to  me.  You  mean  that  Rossline's  birth 
and  edication  is  agen'  them  prejudices  of  his  ?  That's  so.  But  a 
young  man  that  loves  her  could  overlook  'them  things.  They're 
dead  an'  out  of  sight.  But  an  old  fellar  like  me,"  with  a  wretched 
attempt  at  a  laugh,  "  is  a  livin'  fact.  I'd  be  a  perpetooal  disgrace 
feittin'  in  the  chirnley  corner  with  my  missabul  English,  and  talk  of 
wagonin'  and  prodooce  and  lumber." 

"  Not  to  a  true  man,"  hotly. 

"  I  think  the  man  that  wrote  them  words  is  a  true  man,"  calmly 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  217 

"He's  got  his  notions  jest  as  you  and  I  hev.  An'  the  pint  is,  is 
Ross's  life  to  be  given  up  on  account  o'  them?  Wouldn't  it  be 
better  for  us  to  humor  them  a  bit  ?  " 

"  What  does  thee  propose  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  When  he  spoke,  all  sign  of  emo 
tion  was  held  in  check,  out  of  his  quiet,  resolute  voice.  "  Ef  ther's 
only  one  thing  in  Ross'  road  to  bein'  happy,  it's  best  to  do  away 
with  it.  I  perpose  that  you  shell  continue  to  be  Rossline's  gar- 
deen,  as  you  say  he  thinks  you.  You're  a  fitter  purtector  for  her 
as  she  is  now,  than  me,  though  I've  been  slow  to  see  that.  She 
does  not  know  I  have  come  back.  Ther's  no  need  for  her  to  know 
it,"  hurrying  the  broken  sentences  out  as  though  his  strength  was 
giving  way.  "  I'll  go  down  with  Trumbull  to  the  South  Street 
Hospital.  I'll  be  well  keered  for  there.  When  I'm  able,  I'll  go 
back  without  seein'  her.  I'll  not  cross  their  path.  I'll  leave  her 
futur  to  you.  Ther'll  be  a  long  spell  of  fightin'  before  this  war's 
over,  an'  it's  not  prob'ble  in  the  nateral  course  of  things  that  I'll 
ever  come  out  of  it.  That  was  what  I  perposed,  ef  you'll  keep  the 
secret  for  me." 

Now  Friend  Blanchard,  with  all  her  sympathy  for  old  Joe,  held 
Ross  near  as  her  own  child ;  here  was  a  way  opened  of  escape  for 
her.  She  saw  what  the  sacrifice  would  cost  the  old  man.  He  had 
lain  back  on  the  pillows  when  he  had  done  speaking,  his  breath 
coming  feebly  and  at  long  intervals,  his  white  eye-lashes  resting  on 
the  hollow  cheeks ;  the  face  might  have  been  that  of  a  dead  man 
but  for  the  resolute'compression  in  it.  The  Quakeress  seized  eagerly 
upon  that  very  resoluteness  to  help  her.  He  was  obstinately  beijt 
on  this  course :  why  should  she  oppose  him  ?  The  loss  would  be 
bitter  to  him  :  but  it  was  a  manly  sacrifice ;  besides,  as  he  said,  he 
was  an  old  man,  he  had  but  a  few  weeks'  furlough,  after  that  a 
year's  fighting  perhaps,  and  then  the  long  rest ;  while  to  her  child, 
as  she  fondly  called  Ross,  life  was  yet  in  its  first  morning  nour. 

To  give  him  a  short  pleasure,  must  it  all  be  clouded  ?  must  the 
girl  go  with  empty  heart  and  hand  to  the  grave  ? 

Friend  Abigail  twice  leaned  forward  to  say  that  she  consented, 
but  the  face  on  the  pillow  awed  the  words  back  from  her  lips.  He 
opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  up  at  her  dully. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  he  said.  "  My  little  gal — I  mean  Ross- 
line  may  go  back  to  the  house,  and  by  some  means  discover  that  I 
am  here.  I'll  be  removed  at  once." 

Friend  Blanchard  rose  nervously,  but  with  alacrity.  He  had  not 
asked  her  consent  again,  and  somehow  she  felt  as  if  the  responsi 
bility  was  shifted  from  her  shoulders.  "  I  will  have  pillows  placed 
in  the  carriage.  I  will  drive  thee  to  the  hospital,"  she  said. 

"  It  does  not  need.  Trumbull  is  goin'  in  an  ambulance.  He'll 
§ee  to  me.  She  might  see  the  kerridge,  and  suspect  some'at.  Do 


218  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

not  stay  longer,  Madam,  Pm  obleeged  to  you  for  comin', "  He 
closed  his  eyes  again  wearily. 

Steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  Trumbull  appeared. 

"Friend  Joseph,"  said  the  Quakeress,  turning  to  him  with  a 
guilty  color  on  her  face,  "  will  go  with  thee  to  the  hospital.  Thee 
does  not  leave  any  charge  with  me  about  Rosslyn  ?  "  stooping  over 
Joe. 

"  It  doesn't  need,"  gently.  "  I've  give  her  over  to  Him  that's 
always  had  her  in  keer.  He'll  keep  her  friends  true  to  her — and 
her  husband." 

"  Ye'r  goin'  to  the  hospital,  Joe  ? "  said  Trumbull  with  a  per 
plexed  face,  raising  his  voice,  and  looking  back  over  his  shoulder 
to  the  s  lairs. 

"  To  the  hospital !  "  There  was  a  cry  and  a  scurry  of  well-known 
feet  across  the  floor,  that  drove  the  blood  fiercely  back  into  old  Joe's 
faintly-beating  heart,  and  then  two  arms  were  about  him,  and  he 
was  pulled  up  against  a  soft  breast,  and  kisses  and  tears,  each  hot- 
tor  and  faster  than  the  other,  came  showering  down  all  over  his  face 
and  hair,  and  took  away  his  breath. 

"  Why  grandad !  grandad ! "  she  cried,  whereat  Joe  managed 
with  a  hysteric  sob  and  chuckle  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  She 
had  been  crying  for  a  long  time,  enough  to  make  both  eyes  and 
nose  red.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  the  dainty,  delicate  woman  whom 
he  had  left  a  month  or  two  ago,  so  much  as  the  little  yellow-haired, 
freckled-faced  herb-girl  of  long  ago,  coming  out  of  one  of  her  kinks 
of  temper,  with  a  threatened  blow  in  her  eyes  and  a  kiss  on  her 
mouth.  He  gripped  her  shoulder  with  one  hand.  He  had  her  safe : 
that  was  his  sole  thought :  forgetting  Randolph  altogether. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  I  was  here,"  he  said. 

"  No.  I  suspected  it.  I  dragged  it  out  of  Matsy,  or  I  would 
never  have  known,"  with  an  indignant  flash  of  the  eyes  at  Friend 
Blanchard.  "  Some  other  time  you  can  explain  the  plan  -^  me," 
shutting  her  mouth  tightly,  though  she  busied  herself  aboli.  iilai 
tenderly  as  a  mother  might  with  her  baby. 

Friend  Blanchard  with  difficulty  hid  a  smile  at  her  temper,  "  Thy 
shoes  are  wet  and  muddy,"  she  said,  placidly. 

"  I  came  into  town  on  foot.  I  could  not  wait.  It  is  here  the 
wound  was,  grandad  ?  "  her  features  growing  pale  and  sharp  as  blie 
passed  her  hand  over  his  side.  "  Doctor  Broderip  must  see  it  him 
self,  and,"  her  brows  contracting  irritably  again,  "  I  will  nurse  you 
as  well  as  the  amateur  hands  at  the  hospitals.  Your  room  is  all 
ready,  and  here  is  your  old  loose  coat,  and,"  beginning  to  unlace 
his  heavy  shoes,  "I  brought  your  own  slippers.  I  thought  you'd 
be  foot-sore  with  these  clogs,  and  the  old  things  I  worked  would 
seem  home-like." 

Trumbull  had  shuffled  off.     The  two   old  people  watched  her 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  219 

keenly  as  she  worked  about  the  bed,  trembling  and  eager :  Joe  with 
a  half-amused,  half-sad  smile:  but -the  Quakeress  saw  something 
more  than  a  transient  flash  of  rage  in  her  now  colorless  face  and 
burning  eyes.  She  knew  that  Ross  was  quick-sighted:  she  saw 
that  she  had  guessed  the  reason  of  the  deception  they  meant  to 
practice  on  her,  and  that  the  separation  between  her  and  her  grand 
father  was  intended  to  be  perpetual.  There  was  an  unspeakable 
tenderness  in  her  every  look  and  touch  turned  toward  him,  which 
neither  his  return  nor  even  his  escape  from  danger  would  account 
for.  It  was  a_s  if  absolute  Death  had  interposed  between  them,  and 
she  herself  had  driven  him  back. 

Joe  got  her  arm  in  his  hands,  at  last,  and  patted  it,  with  just  the 
old  quizzical,  soothing  manner  he  was  wont  to  use  to  her  in  her  ob 
stinate  fits  of  ill-humor,  long  ago. 

"  My  little  gal's  onreasonable  to-day,"  he  said,  gently.  "  She 
don't  wait  to  hear  the  rights  of  the  case,  or  why  I  meant  not  to 
come  anigh  her  jest  now." 

"  We  will  not  talk  of  it,"  decisively.  "  You  thought  you  were 
kind.  But  you  don't  know  your  sweetheart  after  all,"  buttoning 
the  coat  up  close  under  his  chin. 

Even  Burley  noticed  the  increasing  pallor  of  her  face,  and  that 
the  cold,  clammy  sweat  had  wet  the  golden  hair  about  her  temples. 
She  continued  to  arrange  his  clothes,  his  knapsack  and  bundle, 
making  ready  to  start,  talking  all  of  the  time,  using  old  names  by 
which  she  had  called  him  when  a  child,  and  old  words  long  ago 
fallen  into  disuse ;  she  took  fierce  and  firm  possession  of  him  by 
the  right  of  those  old  days,  as  it  were,  in  every  motion  or  phrase : 
but  she  curiously  avoided  meeting  his  eye,  which  followed  her. 
Claiming  him,  she  faced  her  ot  her  loss. 

She  bent  down  to  tie  his  woolen  comforter  about  his  ears,  at  last. 
"  The  carriage  is  in  waiting  ?  "  she  said  to  Friend  Blanchard. 

Then  Burley  took  her  hand  in  his.  "  We've  gone  fur  enough,  lit 
tle  gal,"  he  said,  patting  it  slowly  in  his  other  palm.  "  I'd  made 
iny  mind  up'  before  you  come  in,  and  I  hevn't  changed  it  now, 
though  I  couldn't  forbear  the  pleasure  of  seem'  you  movin'  about 
the  bed  as  if  you  belonged  to  me  yit.  But  we  may  as  well  settle 
this  matter  now,  once  and  for  all." 

Ross  Burley  stood  upright,  looking  suddenly  at  the  flood  of  win 
try  morning  sunlight  that  came  in  at  the  window.  Whatever  spasm 
of  emotion  swept  over  her  face  was  illegible  to  the  Quakeress'  keen 
scrutiny  as  words  in  a  language  to  which  she  had  no  key.  It  was 
gone  in  a  moment.  She  turned  with  a  cheerful  smile,  stroking  back 
his  gray  hair  playfully. 

"  Let  us  settle  it  now  and  forever  then.  What  is  the  case,  and 
all  of  the  rights  of  it  ?  I'll  not  be  unreasonable,"  with  a  swift 
glance  out  at  the  clear  air  and  light. 


220  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  wintry  daylight  grew  animate  just  then,  falling  about  her 
vivid  and  clear  as  she  stood  looking  down  at  him  with  one  wrinkled, 
leather-colored  hand  in  hers.  Whatever  had  been  feverish  or  mor 
bid  in  her  mood  seemed  to  have  fallen  away :  a  delicate  rose  coloi 
came  and  went  in  her  cheeks,  the  smile  on  her  lips  was  fresh  and 
cheery,  the  large  brown  eyes  were  brilliant  under  their  mist  of 
tears. 

Old  Joe's  eyes  passed  slowly  over  her  from  head  to  foot ;  .he 
raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  speaking  with  difficulty.  "  Ef  you 
could  see  yerself  to-day,  sweetheart,  you'd  know  the  reasonable 
ness  of  what  I  want  to  do.  When  you  was  a  quick-tempered, 
rompish  little  gal,  gettin'  hungry  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and 
tearin'  yer  frocks  perpetooally,  yer  old  grandad  could  be  of  use  to 
you,  and  understand  what  you  wanted.  But  it's  different  now. 
You're  a  golden-haired,  delicate  lady.  There's  none  of  them  fairer 
or  choicer  than  you.  You've  got  thoughts  and  wants  beyond  me, 
that  I'll  never  understand.  You've  gone  into  another  world  like 
from  mine,  Rossline.  I  ought  for  to  have  seen  that  long  ago,  but 
someway  I  never  did  ontil  some  words  from  Madam  here  showed 
it  to  me  to-day.  I'm  obleeged  to  her  for  them." 

He  stopped  for  some  reply,  but  she  made  none ;  only  the  brown 
eyes  grew  brighter  and  steadier  as  they  fixed  themselves  on  his. 
He  fumbled  in  his  gray  beard  with  his  trembling  fingers  a  mo 
ment. 

"  Things  which  is  onnateral  ought  not  for  to  be,"  he  said.  "  Ef 
I'm  in  yer  way,  my  little  gal  (an'  ther's  nobody  sees  that  I  am  so 
clear  as  myself),  then  the  time's  come  fur  us  to  part.  The  Good 
Man  meant  me  to  be  a  help  to  you  an'  not  a  millstone  about  yer 
neck.  I'll  go  back  to  my  fellars.  Don't  you  be  oneasy  about  me, 
little  sister.  I'll  not  be  unhappy ;  it's  not  my  disposition ;  and  I'll 
be  more  contented  fur  thinkin'  I've  seen  the  clean  way  to  take,  an' 
took  it.  First,  I'll  go  to  the  hospital.  I'll  be  well  keered  for 
ther." 

She  had  not  moved  nor  spoken,  but  with  her  hand  on  his  wrist 
and  the  clear,  penetrating  look  on  his  face,  it  seemed  to  the  old 
man  as  if  his  secret  soul,  with  the  pain  that  wrung  it,  was  open  to 
her :  the  words  of  feigned  calmness  had  come  from  his  mouth  half 
articulated :  he  moved  feebly,  uncertainly,  under  her  eye. 

"  You  will  go  to  the  hospital,"  she  said,  quickly.     "And  I ?" 

He  looked  at  her  now,  the  bitterest  truth  oozing  from  his  mouth. 
"  Ther's  one  that's  nearer  to  you  then  me,  Rossline.  That's  nateral. 
I  don't  find  no  fault.  I'll  not  keep  you  from  him.  He's  comin'  to 
night — to-night,"  feeling  her  arm  tremble,  "  to  ask  you  to  be  his 
wife.  I'll  not  stand  between  you  and  him."  He  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands ;  the  hand  was  dry  and  weak — there  was  not  much 
life  in  it.  The  thought  came  to  him,  which  is  the  bitterest  in  life, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  221 

which  comes  at  times  into  the  cheerfullest  old  age,  that  his  w ork 
was  done,  that  he  only  now  cumbered  the  earth,  and  that  it  would 
be  decenter  in  him  to  be  gone,  and  out  of  the  way  of  those  whom 
he  could  no  longer  serve.  For  one  minute  there  was  silence,  then 
a  healthy  moist  hand  was  laid  upon  his  forehead,  pushing  his  own 
away. 

"  Grandad  !  grandad  !  "  It  was  the  cheerfullest,  lovingest  voice 
in  the  world  that  called  to  him. 

"  Now  hear  my  story."  The  voice  was  hardly  above  a  whisper : 
but  her  tones  were  strong  and  earnest,  and  she  stooped,  vehement 
in  her  eagerness,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

"  There  was  a  little  girl  once,  an  ugly  little  tomboy,  if  you  will, 
to  whom  you  were  truer  than  you  are  to  Ross  Burley  to-day.  You 
gave  her  more  than  food  or  clothes  or  love :  you  believed  in  her, 
you  trusted  her.  You  never  would  have  spoken  to  her  the  words 
you  have  done  just  now  to  me.  They  are  unjust  and  cruel !  "  the 
angry  tears  flashing  into  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  Rossline !  " 

"  You  do  not  see  the  meaning  of  what  you  have  said,"  passion- 
ately.  "  You  did  not  mean,  maybe,  to  put  your  delicate,  golden- 
haired  lady  upon  a  par  with  a  savage  who  carries  his  father  out 
for  the  beasts  to  gnaw,  when  he  is  too  old  to  work;  but  you  did  it 
— you  did  it,"  with  a  womanish  sob.  "  I  don't  know  your  golden- 
haired  lady,"  falling  on  her  knees  by  the  bed  and  hiding  her  face 
and  trembling  hands  in  his  breast.  "  I  don't  know  her !  I'm 
only  your  little  Rossline  that  you  used  to  believe  in.  I've  never 
changed  to  you — never ! " 

"  I  know  it,  sweetheart,  I  know  it !  "  holding  her  head  close  with 
both  hands :  for  she  had  touched  the  quick  in  the  old  man's  heart, 
and  all  of  his  resolution  and  reasons  had  crumbled  away.  Friend 
Blanchard  had  long  since  left  them  alone. 

"  And — the  young  man  ? — this  Randolph,  sweetheart  ?  "  in  a  low, 
unsteady  whisper,  his  fingers  stopping  their  soothing  stroke  on  her 
head. 

She  raised  her  face  slowly :  there  was  no  blush  on  it  as  she  looked 
into  his  eyes  with  the  whole  truth  bared  in  hers.  "I  think,"  she 
said,  quietly,  "  I  think  that  he  loves  the  golden-haired  lady.  Some 
day,  perhaps,  he  may  know  and  love  Rosslyn.  Now,  she  has  no 
body's  true  love  but  yours,"  laying  her  head  down  again.  The  red 
blood  crept  up  into  the  old  man's  face,  and  his  eyes  shone  as  if  a 
new  lease  of  life  and  health  had  come  to  him. 

"  So  ?  "  he  said,  softly  pulling  out  the  long,  curly  hair  through 
his  fingers.  "  So  ?  I'll  never  be  cruel  to  my  little  gal  agin  then. 
But  you  see  I  mistook :  I  thought  my  work  was  done." 

Friend  Blanchard  came  in  at  that  moment.  He  looked  up,  smil 
ing  eagerly  "  I've  got  my  little  Rossline  yet  as  I  thought  I'd  lost. 


222  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Madam,  we  understand  each  other.     Nothin'  but  death'll  ever  par4 
her  and  me.     Shell  we  go  home  now,  sweetheart  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

NATURE    AGAINST   CIRCUMSTANCE. 

"  EF  you'll  open  the  curtains,  I'll  look  over  the  papers  a  bit, 
Rossline.  I  want  to  see  what  the  boys  is  doin'  since  I  left :  though 
there'll  be  no  more  trouble  in  Eastern  Kentucky.  Garfield  routed 
the  Rebels  out,  root  an'  branch,  the  day  of  that  fight  on  Middle 
Creek.  I'd  no  hand  in  that,"  as  he  unfolded  the  morning  paper. 

"  But  you  brought  information  as  to  the  strength  of  the  enemy," 
said  Ross,  eagerly. 

"  'T  want  brought,  that,  Rossline.  The  credit  of  tryin's  owin' 
to  a  fellar  named  Nat,  an'  he  lost  more'n  life  by  it.  I  mean," 
seeing  her  inquiring  look,  "  he  was  tuk  back  into  slavery.  He  be 
longed  to — to  a  planter  down  ther,"  checking  himself  at  Strebling's 
name.  "  Ha !  I  see  the  Colonel'll  be  promoted,"  glancing  over  the 
paper.  "  That's  right !  I'm  glad  o'  that !  "  heartily. 

Ross  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  seeing  that  he  was  engrossed 
by  the  news,  spelling  it  over  half  aloud  with  his  brows  knit,  she 
rose  and  began  to  set  the  room  in  order  for  the  evening.  It  was 
his  own  old  chamber,  filled  with  his  belongings  which  had  been 
part  and  parcel  of  himself  since  the  wagoning  days.  Carpet  and 
curtains  and  bed  were  fhe  best  and  warmest  which  Ross  could  buy ; 
but  the  sheep-skin-covered  chair  which  Bob  Comly  made  him,  still 
stood  by  the  chimney  side,  the  old  eight-day  clock  with  its  red- 
faced  sun  rising  over  the  dial,  was  in  the  corner,  and  his  blackened 
old  pipe  hung  from  the  key. 

It  had  been  a  very  happy  day  for  the  old  man ;  he  was  at  home 
again.  Doctor  Broderip  had  seen  his  wound  and  promised  to  send 
him  back  to  the  boys,  cured,  in  a  month's  time.  Ross  had  been 
close  by  his  side,  and  even  Friend  Blanchard,  finding  that  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  events  took  their  own  course  without  let  or  hin 
drance  from  her,  made  the  best  of  her  own  helplessness  as  usual, 
and  had  been  with  him  and  Ross  in  and  out,  merry  and  gossipping 
all  day.  He  had  almost  forgotten  that  it  was  to-night  that  Ran 
dolph  was  coming ;  or,  if  he  remembered  it,  glanced  at  Ross's  happy 
quiet  face,  and  thought  it  could  matter  little  whether  he  came  01 
not. 

The  day  had  been  warm ;  the  evening  sun  was  slanting  red  bars 
of  level  light  into  the  room,  that  struck  across  his  newspaper.  "  It's 
later  than  I  thought,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "  I've  talked  too  much 
to-day,  and  you've  been  shet  up  in  this  room  too  much,  sweetheart," 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  223 

touching  her  pale  cheek.  "  I'll  jest  look  down  this  column,  and  then 
lie  down  a  bit.  You  need  not  comeJback  till  bed-time,  Rossline;  I 
think  I'll  sleep." 

She  did  not  go  directly,  fearing  he  might  think  her  glad  to  escape, 
wheeled  the  lounge  up  to  the  fire,  arranged  the  pillows,  and  then 
parting  the  gray  hairs,  kissed  him  with  a  jest  and  laugh,  and  went 
out  and  into  her  own  room,  closing  the  door  after  her. 

Friend  Blanchard,  who  had  been  listening  for  her  step,  went  soon 
afterward  and  tapped  at  the  door.  She  knocked  two  or  three  times 
before  it  was  opened.  But  when  Ross  came  to  it  her  countenance 
was  inscrutable,  its  outside  mask  quiet  and  cheerful.  The  Quaker 
ess  never  had  worn  before  the  girl  so  earnest  or  pained  a  face. 

Ross  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  in.  "You  are  in  trouble?" 
gently. 

"  Not  for  myself,  Rosslyn,"  scanning  her  with  her  piercing  eyes. 
"  But — thy  grandfather  has  told  thee  the  object  of  Garrick  Ran 
dolph's  return?  He  is  coming  here  to-night." 

"  I  know,"  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  mantle-shelf  and  looking 
into  the  fire.  But  Ross  had  a  vein  of  her  grandfather's  stubborn 
pride — no  trace  of  pain,  no  demonstrative  blush  came  out  on  the 
fair,  pale  cheek. 

"I  have  no  right  to  intrude  upon  thy  confidence,  my  child,  and 
yet — I  am  greatly  troubled  for  thee,  Rosslyn,"  and  tears  swam  in 
the  black  eyes. 

Ross  put  out  her  hand  impetuously,  but  without  lifting  her  eyes. 
"  You  have  every  right  to  my  confidence !  But  what  is  there  to 
tell  ?  There  is  a  great  gulf  between  Garrick  Randolph  and  the 
woman  which  I  know  myself  to  be.  He  cannot  come  to  me,  nor  I 
go  to  him.  The  story  is  told ;  there  is  no  need  of  lamentation  over 
it.  There  shall  be  none." 

"  It  has  not  always  seemed  to  thee  that  the  story  must  end  thus, 
Ross." 

"  No,"  slowly ;  "  not  always.  But  what  will  you  have  ?  "  look 
ing  up  with  a  sudden  smile,  though  the  smothered  thought  beneath 
would  force  itself  through  her  honest,  brown  eyes.  "  All  of  us  have 
some  hard  circumstance  like  manacles  to  carry  through  life,  and  if 
we  take  it  up  and  own  it  truthfully,  it  loses  half  its  shame.  Some 
day,  like  Christian's  load,  it  will  fall  oif,  I  suppose." 

"  Thee  intends  to  tell  the  truth  to  Garrick,  then  ?  The  whole 
truth  ?  "  rising  from  her  chair  and  standing  beside  her. 

Ross  was  silent :  not,  however,  Friend  Blanchard  saw,  from  want 
of  decision. 

"Thee  is  unwilling  to  pain  me  by  thy  answer:  but  thee  shows 
little  mercy  to  thyself,  Rosslyn,"  impatiently. 

"What  would  you  bid  me  do?  Common  honesty  makes  my 
course  clear." 


224  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Common  honesty  does  not  demand  the  story  of  thy  birth,  or, 
in  any  case,  the  name  of  thy  father :  the  man  of  all  others  ob 
noxious  to  Randolph — "  She  stopped  abruptly.  "  Rosslyn !  thee 
can  scarcely  draw  thy  breath — I  have  worn  out  thy  strength." 

"  I'm  only  tired  with  standing,"  said  healthy  Ross,  who  never 
had  known  an  aching  bone  or  nerve. 

"  If  it  is  only  thy  body  that  suffers,  thee  will  be  better  alone." 
And  Friend  Blanchard,  after  herself  stirring  the  fire  to  make  a 
cheerful  light  in  the  room,  went  out  noiselessly :  thinking,  after  she 
had  shut  the  door,  that  if  Ross  had  been  less  strong  and  healthy, 
if  brain  or  body  had  been  unequal  in  power,  she  would  have  suf 
fered  less  in  the  loss  coming  to  her  to-night.  But  she  was,  of  all 
women,  the  type  of  a  wife  and  mother  in  the  old  Friend's  eyes — 
strong-limbed,  clear-brained,  with  affections  that  had  their  rise  with 
the  wholesome  currents  of  her  life,  and  would  go  with  it  into  what 
ever  waited  for  her  beyond  Death. 

Friend  Blanchard  sat  alone  in  the  sober-hued  luxury  of  her  own 
chamber,  until  the  sun  had  set,  and  twilight  began  to  gather  gray 
and  calm,  listening  for  the  tramp  of  Randolph's  horse,  or  for  a  sign 
of  life  in  the  girl's  adjoining  room ;  but  all  was  silent. 

Now  and  then  she  pressed  her  finger  and  thumb  on  her  aching 
temples  with  a  frown  of  pain,  and  sometimes  smiled  cynically,  in 
venting  stinging  sarcasms  touching  Randolph,  toward  whom  she 
began  to  feel  a  curious  antipathy.  There  were  none  of  his  absurdi 
ties  of  stately  awkwardness,  prosy  talk,  bigotry  or  priggishness, 
that  she  did  not  lash  mercilessly  to  herself.  When  she  had  finished, 
she  felt  relieved,  folded  up  her  whip  and  laid  it  aside,  so  to  speak, 
and,  ringing  for  lights,  took  up  her  book,  prepared  to  bear  Ross' 
defeat  with  the  philosophy  which  had  so  often  helped  her  through 
her  own. 

The  book  shook  in  her  hand,  however,  the  letters  hazed  together : 
she  laid  it  down,  her  hands  falling  into  their  habitual  calm  clasp  on 
her  knees,  while  she  bent  her  head,  again  to  listen.  There  was  a 
silence  like  that  of  death  in  Rosslyn's  room.  The  last  time  he 
came,  Friend  Blanchard  remembered  well  the  delicious  thrill  of 
preparation  that  seemed  to  pervade  the  house,  coming  from  the 
heart  of  its  mistress :  how  farm  and  house  were  set  in  order  like  a 
kingdom  making  ready  for  its  lord,  and  Ross  adorning  herself,  with 
a  new  meaning  in  her  fresh  face  and  form,  as  Esther  was  purified 
and  brought  to  the  king  in  rich  and  rare  vestments. 

There  was  no  preparation  made  for  him  now :  Friend  Blanchard 
alone  remembered  to  order  lights  in  the  little  parlor  down  stairs, 
whose  glimmer  out  into  the  night  might  seem  to  give  him  welcome. 
From  Ross'  room  came  neither  light  nor  sound. 

At  last,  just  before  dusk,  she  heard  the  far-off  tramp  of  hoofs 
down  among  the  mist  of  the  creek  bank ;  a  slow,  regular  tramp. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  225 

"  He  rides  to  his  mistress  as  methodically  and  decorously  as  to  his 
lawyer,"  sneered  the  old  lady. 

She  did  the  simple-hearted  gentleman  injustice.  Coming  nearer 
to  the  house,  he  drew  the  rein  tighter,  held  back  the  horse  into  a 
walk.  The  end  was  so  near!  His  breath  clogged  his  lungs,  the 
hot  throbbing  in  his  brain  grew  still.  Passion,  once  thoroughly 
roused,  as  in  all  lethargic,  cold  temperaments,  had  utter  mastery  of 
him.  Yet  beneath  it  all, — the  germ  of  his  worship  of  this  pure 
woman,  and  of  all  women  in  her,  was  the  honor  he  paid  her,  the  re 
spect,  the  homage ;  far  more  than  selfish  desire  to  call  her  his  own. 
All  his  life  he  had  an  instinct  for  that  which  was  clean  and  pure : 
no  nun  could  loathe  a  foul  word  or  doubtful  look  as  did  the  reticent, 
awkward  scholar.  Down  in  Washington,  jostled  by  brazen  female, 
lobby-members,  and  permit-vendors,  he  had  hid  the  thought  of 
Rosslyn  deeper  and  deeper  out  of  sight,  until  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  found  in  this  innocent  maiden  the  very  heart  of  hearts  of 
all  the  purity  of  life.  It  was  as  if  the  one  white  lily  of  the  world 
had  waited  for  him  to  pluck  and  hide  its  sweetness  in  his  breast. 

When  once  this  whimsical  fancy,  which  might  have  belonged  to 
some  troubadour's  love  song,  grew  into  his  brain,  a  thousand 
remembrances  of  her  gave  it  consistency  and  strength.  Her  very 
breath,  fresh  as  a  new-born  babe's,  the  pure,  tender  color  of  blue 
which  she  always  wore,  and  which  seemed  to  him  to  typify  to  the 
strength  of  innocence,  touched  his  memory  gratefully. 

She  was  like  a  rare,  radiant  dream  to  him  in  Washington ;  but 
when  he  came  into  the  same  air  she  breathed,  she  became  so  real  to 
him ;  she  so  warped  his  senses,  his  very  reason,  by  the  mere  fact  of 
living,  that  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of  actual  contact  with  her, 
face  to  face.  As  his  horse  came  tramping  over  the  little  bridge 
with  the  measured  pace  that  so  enraged  Friend  Blanchard,  he  was 
looking  down  at  his  fingers,  wondering  if  he  ever  should  touch  her 
hair,  touch  her  warm,  blushing  cheek  with  them,  his  face  pale  with 
the  sudden,  electric  thrill  in  his  blood  at  the  thought.  He  was 
almost  a  middle-aged  man  now,  and  love  was  a  new  passion;  it 
terrified,  bewildered  him  with  its  force. 

He  put  his  finger  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  to  feel  if  the  ring  was 
safe,  which  he  meant  to  be  the  sign  of  their  betrothal.  He  took  it 
out  and  held  it  up  in  the  fading  light :  a  single  pearl,  set  in  her  own 
color,  blue.  Diamonds  had  seemed  gaudy  and  tawdry  when  he 
thought  of  her.  He  had  bought  the  ring,  planned  their  home  (for 
he  meant  they  should  be  married  in  a  month) — planned,  too,  bring 
ing  her  down  to  his  own  home  in  Kentucky,  when  this  miserable, 
bloody  work  would  allow  him  to  bring  his  bird  to  the  one  nest 
which  he  fancied  had  been  made  ready  and  intended  for  her  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world. 

15 


226  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

It  never  occurred  to  his  inborn  self-content  that  he  would  be  dis 
appointed. 

Friend  Blanchard,  hearing  the  horse's  steps  coming  up  the  road 
and  round  to  the  side  entrance,  rose  nervously,  and  opened  her  own 
door  into  the  dark  upper  passage.  She  was  perplexed  and  nervous. 
Should  she  go  down  and  warn  him  ?  Warn  him  of  what  ?  It  was 
a  matter  which  belonged  to  these  two  souls  alone  before  God ;  it 
was  left  to  her  to  stand  aside. 

But  she  listened  intently  until  the  heavy  man's  step  crossed  the 
porch  and  entered  the  room  below ;  then  she  heard  a  movement  in 
Ross's  room  as  if  she,  too,  had  heard  it  and  had  risen  wearily.  A 
moment  after,  without  waiting  to  be  summoned,  she  opened  the 
door,  and  came  out.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  perhaps,  she  had 
given  no  thought  to  her  appearance.  Her  tight-fitting  dress  was 
the  same  which  she  had  worn  all  day ;  she  had  bathed  her  face  in 
cold  water,  to  take  away  the  physical  pain,  but  her  hair,  left  to 
itself,  clung  all  over  her  head  and  neck  in  a  mass  of  tangled, 
glistening  rings.  Yet,  as  she  passed  Friend  Blanchard  without 
seeing  her,  and  mechanically  went  down  the  stairs,  the  old 
Quakeress,  who  had  the  fierce  relish  of  a  man  and  of  an  artist  for 
beauty,  held  her  breath.  The  girl,  with  her  slow  step  and  straight- 
lidded  eyes,  walked  as  if  in  sleep.  She  wore  her  body  unconscious 
and  neglectful  of  it  as  a  half-used  garment,  yet  never  was  its  beauty 
so  dominant  or  perilous.  Friend  Blanchard  followed  like  one  en 
chanted,  step  by  step,  watching  her  until  she  opened  the  door  and 
went  in  to  meet  her  lover. 

"  If  all  the  sins  of  the  world,  instead  of  that  paltry  shame,  had 
fallen  on  her,  I  would  marry  her  if  I  were  a  man !  "  muttered  the 
vehement  old  woman. 

Garrick  Randolph,  who  was  a  man,  stood  silent  when  she  came 
in,  though  he  had  conned  again  and  again  the  fit  words  in  which  to 
greet  her.  What  she  said  to  him,  or  whether  he  answered  or  not, 
he  did  not  know;  for  a  moment  she  was  only  a  picture  whose 
beauty,  whose  nearness  to  himself  smote  him  dumb  as  it  had  done 
the  first  moment  of  their  meeting.  It  was  as  novel  and  unexpected 
now.  When  she  was  seated  in  her  usual  low  chair,  the  very  fram 
ing  of  the  picture  became  full  of  meaning  to  his  heated  brain.  He 
had  seen  other  young  women  seated  by  cosy  fires,  with  books, 
and  music,  and  bits  of  half-finished  sewing  scattered  about,  and 
the  scene  had  not  been  as  picturesque  to  him  as  the  inside  of  a 
blacksmith's  forge. 

But  this  was — home. 

All  the  lonely,  methodic  life  of  the  scholar  culminated  in  the  un 
licensed,  hungry  craving  that  rose  in  soul  and  body.  He  was  not 
conscious  that  their  attempts  at  conversation  fell  into  short,  dis- 


WATTING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  227 

connected  platitudes,  and  finally  into  silence.  While  she  sat,  her 
hands  clasped  on  her  knee,  looking' wistfully  into  the  fire,  the  big, 
awkward  fellow  bent  closer  and  closer  over  her,  his  breath  coming 
in  hot,  quick  gasps  to  his  open  lips,  his  womanish,  blue  eyes  swim 
ming  in  tears.  She  seemed  to  him  unspeakably  simple  and  weak : 
before,  there  had  hung  about  her  a  chill  of  self-reliance  that  had 
daunted  him;  but  to-day  his  instinct  told  him  it  was  gone;  she  was 
as  tender  and  helpless  as  a  baby.  He  wondered  if  it  ever  would  be 
given  to  him  to  tend  and  honor  her  as  others  had  done  here,  glancing 
jealously  about  the  room.  Could  his  love  ever  make  that  other 
home  warm  as  this  in  which  her  childhood  lingered  and  still  lived 
with  her?  It  occurred  to  him  then,  being  tortured  with  impatience 
to  utter  the  words  which  should  make  her  his,  that  it  would  partly 
show  to  her  the  tenderness  in  his  heart  to  tell  her  of  the  home  to 
which  his  memories  belonged,  as  her's  to  the  old  farm-house.  True, 
he  had  gone  over  every  rood  of  ground  in  his  interminable  talks 
with  her  before,  but  he  did  not  think  of  that ;  and  just  then  there 
was  no  time  in  his  life  when  the  tears  had  been  brought  to  his 
credulous  eyes  which  did  not  come  vaguely  back  to  him  and  mingle 
with  the  meaning  of  the  girl's  figure  sitting  there ;  for,  as  usual, 
Garrick's  brain  was  like  a  slow  clock,  and  when  it  should  have 
struck  the  decisive  hour,  was  clogged  with  the  dust  of  all  the  years 
gone  before. 

He  fumbled  in  the  many  pockets  of  his  brown  coat,  and  finally 
pulled  out  a  photograph.  "  I  brought  this  for  you  to  look  at,  Miss 
Burley,"  he  said,  sitting  down  near  her,  but  carefully  avoiding, 
with  his  usual  grave  reserve,  all  contact  between  even  his  foot  and 
her  dress.  "  It  is  my  home — "  not  observing  that  she  turned  her 
eyes  back  to  the  fire  with  a  look  of  repugnance.  What  was  his 
home  to  her? 

It  did  not  matter  whether  she  talked  or  not,  however ;  the  groove 
was  wide  and  well-used,  and  his  thought  ran  easily  in  it.  She 
understood  that.  She  understood,  too,  the  heat  that  came  and  went 
to  his  cheek,  the  liquid  light  in  the  blue  eye,  which  was  fixed  on 
her  face  instead  of  the  picture,  as  he  pointed  out  the  points  in  the 
landscape,  mapping  as  it  were,  his  life  from  boyhood  to  middle-age. 
Never  had  it  seemed  to  her  so  different  from  other  men's,  so  whole 
some,  solitary,  walled  in  from  vice.  While  hers —  There  were 
oaths  and  obscene  phrases  which  she  had  heard  long  ago  in  her 
stall,  which  thronged  back  to  her  now  for  the  first  time  in  many 
years.  What  if  this  man's  pure  eyes  could  read  them  in  her  brain  ! 
he  would  know  the  difference  then  !  She  could  have  laughed  aloud 
in  the  bitterness  of  her  soul.  A  morbid,  taunting  spirit  possessed 
Ross's  healthy  brain  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

Garrick's  voice  was  low  and  unsteady :  he  was  speaking  of  his 
mother.  "  She  set  out  this  clump  of  firs  to  the  right,  l*ere "  and 


228  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

this  copper-beech  tree,  so  that  its  bronze  leaves  might  catch  the 
last  rays  of  the  sun.  She  had  a  quick  eye  for  color :  you  can  see 
traces  of  her  work  in  all  the  landscape  about  the  house — even  now. 
This  photograph  is  from  a  picture  she  painted  of  the  old  home 
stead.  She  painted  it  for  me,  and  had  it  framed.  It  hangs  in  my 
own  chamber  at  home." 

He  moved  uneasily,  grew  silent,  rose  suddenly,  and  walked  across 
the  floor,  looking  out  of  the  window  a  moment,  then  came  back 
and  stood  beside  her  again. 

"She  made  it  for  me.  She  gave  it  to  me  only  a  month  before 
she  died ;  she  kissed  me,  I  remember,  and  said :  '  Garrick,  when  you 
marry,  give  this  to  the  woman  you  love,  and  tell  her  I  ask  her  to 
be  as  true  to  you  and  the  old  home  here  as  your  mother  was.'  " 

He  held  out  the  picture  as  he  spoke,  but,  though  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  it,  she  did  not  touch  it.  He  laid  it  down,  and  stood,  with 
his  clasped  hands  behind  him,  bending  over  her.  The  rising  night 
wind  beat  the  leafless  branches  without  against  the  window-pane : 
struck  a  chill  through  the  room,  her  hair  moved  in  it,  the  firelight 
wavered  unsteadily  to  and  fro.  Surely  she  knew  the  words  that 
hung  on  his  hot  lips.  She  had  risen,  and  stood  facing  him ;  her 
lips,  her  very  eyes,  grew  wan  and  expressionless  when  they  met  his, 
as  if  some  fierce,  smothered  emotion  within  had  absorbed  her 
strength. 

"  I  have  here  " — his  hand  trembled  as  he  thrust  it  into  his  breast 
and  drew  out  an  ivory  miniature — "  I  have  here  a  likeness  of  my 
mother,  Miss  Burley.  I  always  have  worn  it.  It  seemed  to  me  for 
many  years — until  I  grew  a  middle-aged  man — that  no  other  woman 
could  ever  be  to  me  so  pure,  or  so  dear.  Since  she  died,  no  eye  but 
mine  has  rested  on  it.  I  would  be  glad  if—"  He  stopped  abruptly. 
Ross  stood  before  him  dumb  and  motionless. 

"  I  would  be  glad  if  you  would  care  to  think  that  her  eyes  were 
turned  to  you  out  of  her  home  yonder  with  the  same  tender  care 
that  they  have  for  me.  I  think  that  they  are.  My  mother — will 
you  look  at  my  mother,  Miss  Burley  ?  " 

He  held  out  the  miniature :  she  took  it,  and,  quickly  turning  the 
face  dcynward,  laid  it  unseen  upon  the  mantle-shelf. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  said :  her  numbed,  cold 
hands  trying  to  chafe  each  other,  and  then  falling  straight  at  her 
sides. 

Garrick  Randolph,  in  his  slow  way,  looked  once  and  again  from 
the  girl's  face  to  the  slighted  portrait  of  his  mother,  drawing  his 
powerful  frame  to  its  full  height  as  one  who  faces  a  blow.  "You 
have  not  understood  me.  I  had  no  intention  of  hurting  you.  And 
I  have  hurt  you — to  the  quick,"  suddenly  putting  out  one  hand  as 
if  to  save  her  from  falling,  a  bewildered  pain  in  his  face. 

But   Rosslyn    drew  further   back.      "  I   understand   you.     You 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  229 

chose  me  for  your  friend  once,  and,  as  a  sign  of  the  trust  you  place 
in  me,  you  wish  me  to  look  at  this  face  so  dear  to  you.  But — " 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  intended  only  friendship  ?  "  vehemently. 

Ross'  face  burned  crimson  in  her  eagerness  to  stay  him  before  he 
made  his  meaning  clear.  "You  are  deceived  in  me.  I  am  not  a 
woman  in  whose  hands  you  would  wish  to  place  that  picture.  They 
are  not  clean  according  to  your  rules :  there  is  not  a  drop  of  blood 
in  my  veins  which  would  not  be  tainted — in  your  judgment,"  the 
red  spot  burning  deeper  with  each  word,  an  indignant  light  in  her 
eyes.  The  hand  which  he  had  put  out  toward  her  a  moment  ago, 
he  thrust  nervously  into  his  breast,  an  habitual  motion  with  him. 
To  her  it  meant  that  he  dreaded  contamination ;  her  jealous  eyes 
took  note  of  its  contour,  its  flexibility — the  hand  of  an  idle,  sensi 
tive  man;  of  the  rare  old  heir-loom  of  a  ring  he  wore — 

"  There  is  a  fable  that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal  in  this 
country,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  cool  self-control.  "  It  only  needs 
for  you  and  me  to  stand  face  to  face  to  prove  the  baseness  of  the 
falsehood.  Every  man  carries  the  stamp  of  his  birth  and  breeding 
as  plainly  in  his  soul  as  on  his  face :  but  none  plainer  than  you  and 
I.  I  have  heard  of  equality  and  brotherhood  all  my  life,  but  there 
is  not  a  face  I  meet  on  the  streets  which  does  not  bear  terrible 
marks  of  the  difference  made  in  the  nature  of  a  man  by  money  and 
rank  and  the  want  of  them.  Sometimes  my  caste  has  the  advan 
tage,  sometimes  yours :  but  the  gulf  is  always  there." 

"You  class  yourself  apart  from  me?  "with  a  stunned,  bewild 
ered  face. 

"You  are  one  of  the  class  born  with  clean  garments,  whose 
daily  air  is  supposed  to  be  instinct  with  honor  and  purity,  while 
I—" 

She  was  silent. 

Randolph  stood  with  his  head  bent  down :  he  raised  his  hand  to 
his  throat  once  or  twice  as  if  his  breath  failed  him.  When  she  did 
not  speak,  he  said,  in  a  low,  constrained  voice,  without  raising  his 
eyes : 

"In  any  other  case  I  should  avoid  your  confidence,  but,  Miss 
Burley,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know  who  you  are." 

"Yes,  you  have  the  right."  She  looked  down  into  the  fire,  her 
brows  knit,  gathering  her  thoughts.  She  who  had  the  shameful 
story  to  tell  was  quiet  and  grave :  the  man  whose  record  was  hon 
orable,  who  had  no  past  to  hide,  grew  pale,  his  jaws  working  ner 
vously  in  keen  sympathy  with  the  pain  she  hid,  more  than  from  his 
own  dread. 

"I  have  one  favor  to  ask  of  you,  Mr.  Randolph,"  said  Ross: 
"  that  you  will  make  no  comment  on  my  story.  It  does  not  seem 
to  me  to  call  for  pity.  Perhaps,  even  it  may  touch  you  with  a  cer 
tain  respect  for  me.  But  I  could  not  bear  respect  from  you," 


230  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

with  a  sudden  movement  of  her  hand  to  her  head  indescribably 
passionate  and  womanish. 

Randolph  muttered  some  inarticulate  words.  She  did  not  hear 
them.  "There  is  no  shame  attached  to  birth  or  position  which 
would  be  degrading  in  your  eyes  that  does  not  belong  to  mine. 
My  childhood  was  passed  in  the  lowest  haunts  of  poverty ;  where 
stains  cling  to  the  soul,  which,  you  were  careful  to  tell  me,  never 
will  wash  away."  As  the  words  came  from  her  mouth,  each  one 
seeming  to  drag  out  a  remnant  of  her  life  and  strength,  she  saw  the 
man's  head  sink  slowly  on  his  hand,  the  arm  steadied  on  the  mantle- 
shelf.  His  eyes  were  hid,  but  the  haggard  want  of  color  showed 
itself  on  his  jaws  and  about  the  stern,  pinched  mouth.  If  he  had 
showed  hint  of  pity,  it  might  have  unnerved  her ;  as  it  was,  she 
went  on  slowly  and  steadily. 

"  I  not  only  belonged  by  birth  to  the  class  which  you  place  on  a 
par  with  your  slaves,  but  I  worked  with  them.  I  was  one  of  them. 
I  believe  in  my  soul  I  am  one  of  them  now.  My  heart  warms  to 
them  more  than  to  those  who  were  not  born  hungry  and  ignorant. 
I  was  a  market-girl  until  I  w^as  nine  years  old.  I  want  you  to  un 
derstand  the  truth.  I  had  a  stall  on  the  public  street.  Whatever 
there  is  to  see  and  hear  there,  which  should  be  kept  from  children, 
Jsaw  and  heard." 

Randolph  looked  up.  She  saw  in  his  stunned  eyes  a  dread  of 
worse  which  remained  untold. 

"  Rosslyn  ?     James  Strebling  told  me  of  a  Rosslyn  Comly —  " 

She  put  out  one  hand  as  if  to  cry  for  mercy — for  time.  It  was  a 
moment  before  she  spoke;  when  she  did,  it  was  under  her  breath. 

"  They  called  me  that.  It  is  not  my  name ;  neither  is  Burley.  I 
have  no  right  to  any  name,  unless  James  Strebling  had  chosen  to 
give  his  own  to  his  child." 

Garrick  Randolph  was  silent,  looking  at  her ;  yet  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  horrible,  shameful  oaths,  one  after  the  other,  were  rushing 
through  his  discreet,  clean  lips,  in  his  dismay  and  passion.  Rosslyn, 
her  work  ended,  had  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Somehow,  the 
strength  and  sparkle  of  her  life  seemed  to  have  been  drawn  from 
her ;  her  limbs  moved  flaccid  and  limp,  her  eye  was  lustreless,  her 
very  hair  dim.  She  never  had  been  so  homely  in  his  eyes,  so 
dependent,  or  altogether  a  woman. 

He  made  one  step  toward  her.  He  caught  her  wrists  ;  he  forced 
her  to  look  up  in  his  eyes.  "  What  is  your  story  to  me  ?  You 
may  have  been  a  market  huckster,  or  James  Strebling's  daughter 
to  others.  I  know  you  as  no  other  human  being  can  do.  To  me 
you  are  the  woman  I  have  chosen  out  of  all  the  world.  Your 
father  is  nothing  to  me — nothing !  I  will  only  think  God  made 
you,  arid  made  you  for  me.  For  you  love  me — you  love  me,  Ross 
lyn?" 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  231 

She  raised  her  pale,  amazed  face  to  his.  "  It  is  better  that  I 
should  leave  you,"  dully.  "  I  told  all ;  I  kept  nothing  back." 

"  No  woman  was  ever  so  true — so  purely  true,"  with  a  defiant 
emphasis,  as  if  he  asserted  it  to  the  world  and  himself,  as  well  as 
her.  "  You  bared  your  inmost  heart,  poor  child  !  You  would  not 
have  done  it  if  you  had  not  loved  me,  Rosslyn  ! " 

In  his  heat  hitherto,  forgetting  that  he  was  a  Randolph  in  being 
a  man,  he  had  been  almost  rough  with  passion  ;  but  his  stately, 
tender  courtesy  returned  to  him.  He  seated  her  deferentially. 

"  I  had  no  right  to  think  or  to  say  that,"  he  said,  his  large  figure 
drawn  erect  between  her  and  the  firelight  in  a  proud  humility. 
"  It  was  boorish  and  unmanly  to  guess  at  your  feeling  until  you 
chose  to  avow  it.  But  I  am  only  an  awkward  student,  as  you 
know.  I  am  so  little  used  to  delicate  and  tender  women.  Will 
you  listen  to  me,"  in  a  lower  voice,  "  while  I  tell  you  what  one 
woman  is  to  me  ?  I  came  here  to-night  to  tell  you." 

Now  if  Ross  had  been  a  sensitive  woman — that  is,  had  been 
gifted  with  a  morbid,  thin-skinned  self-consciousness — or,  if  she  had 
possessed  a  particle  of  proper  pride  which  some  of  her  more  for 
tunate  sisters  boast,  she  would  have  suspected  that  Randolph  was 
urged  by  some  chivalric  notion  of  having  pledged  his  honor  in  this 
course,  though  only  to  himself;  she  would  have  doubted,  have  pal 
tered,  have  hung  back,  to  assay  the  love  offered  to  her;  if  she  mar 
ried  him  would  have  kept  this  doubt  in  her  heart — a  favorite  skel 
eton — to  which  to  resort  when  unwilling  to  accept  her  fate  as  com 
monplace  and  happy.  But  she  was  honest  to  dullness,  Mrs.  Ottley 
said :  she  never  suspected  a  sham  word  or  unnatural  motive  in 
another  more  than  herself.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  knew  and 
thought  herself  every  whit  as  pure  as  Randolph,  and  was  as  proud 
of  old  Joe  Burley's  blood  as  he  of  the  Pages'.  She  had  done  the 
one  task  which  it  seemed  God  had  set  her,  and  He  had  helped  her 
with  it.  Randolph  was  a  truer  man  than  she  had  known  him  to 
be.  He  knew  all,  and  it  mattered  nothing  to  him.  He  loved  her — 
that  made  it  plain  and  natural  to  her. 

She  did  not  doubt,  therefore,  one  moment,  when  he  spoke  thus, 
this  day  dawning  for  her ;  there  was  a  quick  rush  of  blood  to  her 
heart,  a  startled,  searching  look  into  his  face,  then  she  hid  her  own 
in  her  hands :  not  James  Streb ling's  disgraced  daughter :  on  the 
instant  only  a  shy,  pure  girl,  trembling,  happy,  waiting  to  be  wooed 
and  won.  The  swift  rose  blushes  came  and  went  on  her  face  and 
neck :  her  bosom  heaved :  the  soft  curls  trembling  in  the  firelight 
seemed  to  wait  to  be  caressed.  She  thought  of  how  she  had  prayed 
for  this  hour  to  come,  and  thankful  tears  instead  of  prayers  came 
brimming  to  her  eyes.  In  short,  Ross  was  downright,  honest,  inno 
cent  in  her  love  as  in  everything  else :  old  Joe's  spirit  being  strong 
within  her. 


232  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

It  did  not  matter  to  her  that  Garrick  stumbled  and  muttered  as 
he  told  his  love :  his  eloquence  thrilled  her  soul  with  tender  triumph, 
whether  he  spoke  or  was  silent ;  yet  Garrick  was  at  fault  with 
every  word :  none  of  the  carefully-conned  sentences  that  he  had 
prepared  would  answer,  for  he  had  meant  to  woo  her  with  a  cer 
tain  form  and  dignity,  not  ignoring  the  social  level  on  which  they 
Btood  together,  but  now — 

There  she  was,  without  a  name,  a  true,  beautiful  soul  looking 
through  a  true,  beautiful  body,  giving  herself  to  him.  She  was 
that,  but  she  was  nothing  more.  There  was  neither  name  _or 
lineage  nor  kinsfolk  to  marry  with  his  wife.  That  fact  shut  out  to 
him  the  world  curiously,  gave  to  their  compact  a  strange  solemnity 
and  significance.  They  were  a  man  and  woman  alone  with  God. 

Now  Ross  had  always  been  content  to  shoulder  the  circumstances 
of  her  life  as  they  were,  but  ten  minutes  after  Randolph  heard 
them,  and  while  he  was  telling  her  his  love,  he  was  smothering  and 
clothing  them  in  a  mist  of  poetic  fancies.  She  was  one  of  the 
orphan  little  ones  of  whom  the  Lord  had  especial  care ;  she  was 
Una  or  Truth  who  had  come  to  him  unstained  through  the  mud 
and  slough :  she  was  the  unfathered  Undine  who  had  grown  up 
out  of  the  foul,  stagnant  stream. 

"  I  have  no  words  to  plead  my  cause,  Miss  Burley,"  his  tones 
composed  but  his  blue  eyes  darkening  with  his  heat ;  "  but  I  dare 
to  say  that  the  love  I  offer  you  is  as  untried  and  fresh  as  your  own. 
My  lips  have  never  touched  those  of  woman.  If  you  will  be  my 
wife  I  will  protect  and  shelter  you  with  the  honor  and  devotion  of 
a — man  "  (checking  the  word  gentleman  upon  his  lips.)  "  What 
work  rny  brain  and  hands  are  fit  for  shall  be  given  to  you — God 
helping  me."  He  put  out  his  hand,  the  white,  nervous  one  with 
the  heirloom  ring  upon  it,  and  Ross  took  it. 

Took  it  and  laid  her  cheek  down  on  it ;  then  a  great  silence  fell 
upon  them ;  a  silence  in  which  their  old  lives  faded  unreal  as  a  past 
and  foggy  night,  and  in  the  light  and  warmth  that  dawned  for 
them  he  drew  her  heart  close  to  his  own,  and  his  lips  touched  hers. 
The  day's  trial  had  been  fierce  and  wearing :  now  the  rest  had  come 
for  her.  Something  of  the  exhaustion  and  rest  were  on  her  face, 
and  lingered  there,  even  when  he  sat  pale,  his  eyes  glittering,  hold 
ing  her  in  his  arms,  her  head  at  last  upon  his  breast,  the  golden 
curls  moving  in  his  breath. 

She  rose  presently,  and  took  down  the  miniature  of  his  mother, 
looking  at  it  long  and  earnestly.  It  seemed  to  her  as  weak  as  amia 
ble,  for  love  is  in  no  haste  to  blind  us  to  faulty  facial  lines  in  the 
countenance's  of  our  lover's  mother. 

"It  is  a  sincere,  affectionate  face,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  hesi 
tation.  "  She  shall  not  be  disappointed  in  me.  I  will  be  true  to 
her  son," 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  233 

But  the  praise  was  composed  and  moderate,  and  Randolph  felt 
a  chill  creep  over  him.  It  did  not  Seem  fitting  to  him  that  James 
Strebling's  illegitimate  daughter  should  look  with  critical  eyes  at 
his  dead  mother's  face.  But  Ross,  he  saw,  with  a,  curious  irritation, 
had  apparently  already  forgotten  who  and  what  she  was.  The 
quiet,  simple,  hospitable  manner  which  once  had  seemed  so  rare 
in  her,  struck  him  with  a  certain  surprise  now.  There  was  no  trace 
of  humility  in  it.  If  he  had  made  any  sacrifice  in  ignoring  her 
story,  she  at  least  did  not  appreciate  it. 

True,  they  were  simply  man  and  woman ;  equal  in  God's  eyes. 
And  yet — 

Rosslyn  looked  round  at  him  suddenly  with  a  smile  unutterably 
confiding  and  tender,  and  Randolph's  heart  leaped  again  with  full 
throbs  of  triumph  against  his  chest.  "  Rosslyn,  Rosslyn ! "  he 
cried,  taking  her  wrists  in  his  hands.  The  name  rang  like  prophetic 
music  through  all  of  his  life  to  come.  The  man  was  born  again : 
and  he  knew  it.  His  blue  eye  laughed,  his  face  was  ruddy ;  he  had 
been  used  to  speculate  on  honor,  on  love,  on  hard  work  and  happi 
ness,  peering  out  of  the  dusty  recesses  of  his  laboratory,  but  he 
never  had  taken  them  into  his  hold  before.  He  was  in  the  thick 
of  life  now  :  the  country  was  no  longer  a  map  filled  with  air-lines, 
but  his  feet  were  in  the  sod  of  it,  its  sun  was  hot,  its  wind  cold. 

He  drew  her  to  a  seat  again,  wanting  to  tell  her  this ;  he  thought 
he  did  tell  her ;  but  the  truth  was,  he  only  muttered  two  or  three 
broken  interjections :  holding  the  moist  pink-palmed  hands  close, 
looking  in  her  eyes.  The  touch  of  her  hand,  her  proud  merry  face, 
her  breath  that  rose  and  fell,  the  very  crisp  rustle  of  her  dress  filled 
him  with  a  delirium  that  was  like  a  fine  rapturous  music. 

Ross  roused  him  from  it.  "  Will  you  come  and  see  my  grand 
father  ?  "  she  said. 

Garrick  gave  a  half-conscious  assent.  Before  they  had  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  however,  he  was  quite  himself  again  :  he  was 
a  Randolph,  who  had  affianced  himself  to  the  member  of  another 
family,  and  was  about  to  have  an  interview  with  the  head  of  it. 
As  to  the  manner  of  man  the  said  head  would  be,  he  thought  of  it  " 
with  a  shudder.  But  he  was  grave,  courteous,  smiling,  as  of  old. 

Ross  ran  lightly  before  him  and  tapped  softly  at  the  chamber-  . 
door,  fearing  the  old  man  was  asleep.  But  there  was  a  bright  light 
in  the  room,  and  Joe  was  sitting  up  on  his  bed,  a  pile  of  pillows 
behind  him,  his  white  hair  pushed  back,  his  keen  black  eyes  turned 
on  the  door.  When  her  face  appeared  at  it,  he  beckoned  her  with 
both  hands. 

"  I  did   not   know  you  were  awake,"  said  Ross,  remorsefully, 
stooping  so  that  he  could  not  see  the  shy  blushes  and  smiles  on  her  j, 
face.     But  the  old  man  lifted  her  head,  inspecting  her  with  no  smile 
iu  his  haggard,  eager  eyes. 


234  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  hecrd  him  come.  Is  it  all  well  with  my  little  gal  ?  "  He  did 
not  need  an  answer.  He  held  the  childish  face  upturned  with  Irs 
hand,  touching  the  closed  eyes,  the  crimson,  dewy  lips,  the  dimpled 
chin,  softly  with  his  stubby  finger;  a  slow,  quiet,  tender  smilo 
creeping  over  his  face. 

"  Well,  well !  So  there's  somethin'  come  into  my  little  Rossline's 
life  as  '11  never  go  out !  The  Good  Man  hes  give  to  her  the  best 
He  had  to  give."  He  covered  his  eyes  with  one  bony  hand  and  lay 
silent,  regardless  of  Randolph,  whom  Rosslyn  had  beckoned  to  her 
side.  The  "  young  fellow "  was  simply  the  means  by  which  his 
granddaughter's  life  had  been  made  fuller  and  happier;  and  Ran 
dolph  perceived  that. 

However,  he  looked  up  presently,  and  Garrick  bent  his  large 
figure  respectfully.  The  old  man's  face  with  its  frame  of  white 
hair  and  beard  turned  on  him  with  a  stern,  keen  scrutiny,  might 
have  been  that  of  the  patriarch  Israel,  he  thought,  so  true  to  the 
truth  was  it. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Randolph,  is  it  ?  "  said  Joe,  looking  at  him  steadily, 
some  moments  before  he  held  out  his  hard  hand.  Then  he  offered 
it  to  him.  Still  with  his  half  closed  eyes  sounding  the  meaning  of 
Garrick's.  "Them  was  genooine  words,  sir,  in  your  letter  about 
my  little  gal ;  an'  I  see  the  same  natur'  lookin'  through  yer  face. 
But  it's  ontried — ontried,  I  judge  ?  " 

Randolph  hesitated.  "I  have  lived  a  secluded  and  untempted 
life,  it  is  true."  If  there  was  any  resentment  in  his  mind,  it  was 
not  apparent  in  his  tone. 

"  The  wrastle  comes  to  us  all  sooner  or  later,"  said  Joe.  "  I  hope 
for  my  little  gal's  sake  you'll  come  through  it  as  strong  and  truth 
ful  as  you  'pear  to  me  now.  She'll  help  you.  She  lives  mighty 
close  to  her  Master — Rossline.  You'll  forgive  me,"  with  a  change 
of  tone,  "  for  them  comments  on  you — but  somethin'  in  yer  face 
drawed  it  out  suddent-like ;  an'  I'm  naterally  anxious  about  the 
man  to  whom  I  must  give  the  keer  of  my  granddarter." 

"  Naturally,"  said  Randolph,  with  a  chagrin  he  could  not  hide. 

But  Burley  took  no  further  heed  of  him ;  he  was  watching  Rosa- 
lyn  with  a  fond,  amused  light  in  his  eyes,  patting  her  hand  softly 
on  the  quilt.  "I  allays  said  my  little  gal  was  born  in  the  light  of 
the  moon,"  he  said,  glancing  significantly  up  at  Garrick;  "but  it's 
sunshine  that's  about  her  now,  I  think." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door  a  moment  after,  and  Friend  Blanch- 
ard  entered :  her  step  unusually  placid,  her  face  grave,  but  there 
was  a  hard  light  in  her  luminous  black  eyes,  Randolph  fancied,  as 
she  fixed  them  on  himself. 

"  Thee  has  succeeded  in  winning  our  Rosslyn  ? "  with  a  forced 
smile,  holding  out  her  hand.  "  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  thee 
knows  the  value  of  thy  prize,  Garrick,"  passing  him  as  soon  as 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  235 

courtesy  permitted  to  Ross,  and  catching  both  her  hands  with  an 
eager  fierceness  and  a  something  wliich,  in  any  other  woman,  would 
have  been  a  sob. 

Burley  turned,  with  a  quick  apology  in  his  look.  "  You  have 
carried  consternation  into  our  little  camp,  Mr.  Randolph.  'S  foi 
me,  ther  wur  many  years  when  Rossline  had  no  one  but  her 
grandad :  an'  it's  not  so  easy  fur  me  to  understand  ther's  another 
to  sheer  in  her  thoughts  and  mind." 

Randolph  sat  down  beside  the  bed.  He  felt  that,  in  spite  of  all 
effort,  he  was  silent  and  boorish  ;  it  was  the  old  wagoner  who  talked 
easily  and  cordially,  trying  to  clear  the  atmosphere  about  them. 
Ross,  a  little  dull  of  perception  in  her  happiness,  and  Friend  Blanch- 
ard,  secretly  at  odds  with  fate,  were  silent.  It  was  of  Rosslyn, 
Joe  talked,  never  alluding  to  the  change  or  new  home  coming  to 
her. 

"  Young  people  don't  like  the  kindest  finger  laid  on  their  little 
secrets,"  he  said  sagaciously  to  Friend  Blanchard  afterward. 

When  Randolph  rose  to  leave  him,  too,  the  old  man,  with  his 
usual  tact,  repressed  the  eager  blessing  on  his  lips  on  Rosslyn  and 
the  man  whose  fate  was  to  be  one  with  hers. 

"  I'm  glad  to  have  known  you,  Mr.  Randolph.  I'm  glad  this 
wound  of  mine  druv  me  home  at  this  time.  I  think  I  should  have 
been  glad  to  know  you  ef  you'd  been  no  kin  in  yer  heart  to  Ross- 
line  here." 

When  Garrick  Randolph  rode  away  that  night,  the  keen  delight 
of  his  new  life  possessed  him  for  the  first  mile  or  two.  Rosslyn's 
presence  was  in  the  moonlight,  in  the  balmy  air.  Then  he  began 
to  recall  his  welcome  into  her  family;  Friend  Blanchard's  toler 
ance,  Burley's  two-edged  criticism. 

"  Untried  ?  untried  ?  "  The  words  had  a  sting  of  truth  in  them 
that  rankled.  His  sainted  mother,  his  Aunt  Laura,  his  father,  who 
was  the  soul  of  honor,  had  never  warned  him  that  his  virtue  would 
rate  low,  being  untested.  Again,  nothing  could  be  more  welcome 
to  him  as  a  lover  than  the  loyalty  to  Ross  of  those  who  knew  her 
best.  As  a  woman,  she  was  incomparably  beyond  his  level;  but, 
no  one  had  remembered  that  she  was  of  birth  and  breeding  differ 
ent  from  his  own — or,  rather,  no  one  remembered  that  he  had  for 
gotten  it.  As  for  Burley,  Garrick  had  magnanimously  turned  his 
back  to  the  private's  blue  uniform  hanging  on  the  wall,  shut  his 
ears  to  the  vulgar  patois.  He  thought  he  deserved  a  little  credit 
for  this,  but  nobody  had  perceived  it.  "  A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that " 
he  had  soothed  himself  again  and  again  by  saying  inwardly  while  in 
the  chamber.  But  he  struck  the  spurs  now  into  his  horse  angrily. 

"  One  would  have  thought  the  Randolph  was  the  plebeian,  and 
the  market-girl  of  gentle  blood ! "  he  said,  more  restive,  as  he  rode 
further  from  Ross  and  the  invisible,  loving  hands  which  she 
stretched  after  him. 


WAITING   FOR   THE   VERDICT. 

BY  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE    KING'S    SONS. 

I  THOUGHT  you'd  welcome  the  news  hearty-like,  Doctor 
Broderip;  we  hevn't  mentioned  the  matter  among  strangers, 
but  Rossline  wur  always  a  favorite  of  yours,  and  you've  showed  par- 
shality  for  Mr.  Randolph  here,  so  I  thought  you'd  wish  them  well 
when  you  heerd  they'd  undertook  to  weather  the  storm  together." 

"  I  do  wish  them  well ;  "  and  Broderip,  without  looking  up  from 
Joe's  wound,  which  he  was  examining,  smiled  politely,  while  some 
glib,  well-turned  congratulation  to  Randolph  slipped  off  of  his 
tongue. 

The  old  man  looked  grave  as  if  a  dash  of  cold  water  had  struck 
him,  but  Garrick,  who  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  smiled 
complacently, and  answered  cordially.  He  had  blushed,  a  little  an 
noyed,  when  Burley  had  brought  so  momentous  a  secret  as  his  mar 
riage  before  a  stranger;  but  on  the  instant  he  recalled  the  favor 
which  this  stranger  had  done  him ;  and  besides  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  little  surgeon  which  even  to  Randolph's  dull  instincts 
made  it  seemly  and  natural  to  confide  personal  matters  to  him. 
"He  has  no  solid  matter-of-fact  opinions  like  other  men,"  Randolph 
had  dogmatized  to  Rosslyn.  "Never  talks  of  politics  or  finance. 
He  has  only  his  profession,  and  outsi'de  of  that  he  is  a  woman." 
Which  verdict  Ross  received  as  novel  and  decisive,  as  she  did  all  of 
his  opinions,  though  probably  she  might  have  arrived  at  the  same 
conclusions  herself  a  dozen  times  before. 

Joe's  wound  had  been  tardy  in  healing  ;  the  bandages  were  not 
yet  removed.  The  surgeon  adjusted  them  more  slowly  than  usual, 
Burley  fancied,  to-day,  after  he  had  heard  of  Randolph's  intended 
marriage,  remaining  silent,  his  small  pale  face  compressed  as  he  bent 
over  the  bed.  A  soft  Spring  air  came  in  at  the  open  windows, 
bringing  the  scent  from  the  apple-orchards  and  the  meadows,  blue 
with  wild  violets,  sloping  from  the  farm-house  to  the  creek  below. 
The  sunshine  rested  on  it,  broad  and  warm,  the  rustle  of  the  trees 
outside,  the  hesitating  gurgle  of  the  creek  over  its  slaty  bed,  the 
chatter  of  the  martins  in  the  eaves,  the  bleat  of  the  calves  in  the 
barn-yard,  old  Matsy's  crooning  as  she  sat  knitting  on  the  kitchen 
door-step,  brought  the  pleasant  out-door  Spring  morning  into  Joe's 
cheerful  chamber.  He  watched  the  shadow  of  the  waving  curtains 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  237 

on  the  white  wall  and  then  glanced  at  Broderip,  trying  to  smother 
his  chagrin  at  his  indifference  to  Rosslyn's  wedding,  thinking  that 
"  it  wur  nateral  when  a  man  keered  nothin'  for  wife  or  children  for 
himself,  that  them  things  should  seem  triflin'  for-  others." 

Broderip  himself,  however,  resumed  the  subject,  looking  up  ab 
ruptly  at  Randolph,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  walk,  passed  the  bed. 
"  The  marriage  will  take  place  soon  ?  " 

"  In  a  week — yes.  If  life  is  a  storm,  as  our  friend  here  says,  the 
sooner  we  make  it  fair  weather  for  each  other  the  better.  And 
there  are  no  obstacles  in  our  way." 

"No,  there  are  no  obstacles  in  your  way,"  absently,  bending  to 
his  work  again. 

"  My  hands,"  said  Randolph,  in  a  full,  mellow  voice,  "  thanks  to 
you,  Doctor,  have  fitting  work  laid  out  for  them.  I  must  make  a 
flying  visit  to  Kentucky  immediately  after  my  marriage,  to  look 
after  my  old  home,  and  then  begins  a  long,  easy  journey,"  his  blue 
eye  lighting.  "  But  I  must  go  look  after  my  inheritance." 

"  Yes,"  said  Broderip  slowly,  as  he  lapped  the  bandage.  "  You 
are  a  fortunate  man,"  looking  up  at  Randolph,  who  stood  between 
him  and  the  window,  the  cheerful  sunlight  smiling  on  his  broad, 
stalwart  figure  and  hopeful  face,  bringing  out  ruddy  tints  in  his 
brown  hair  and  beard.  "You  have  a  wife;  you  have  work;  you 
have  an  inheritance  in  which  your  family  have  been  rooted  and 
honored  for  generations.  You  are  a  fortunate  man." 

Randolph  bowed  with  a  bewildered  smile ;  there  was  something 
in  the  sharp,  vehement  tone  of  the  little  gray-coated  man  which  he 
could  not  understand.  "  Coming  up  the  river,"  he  said,  in  his 
prosy,  dreamy  way,  "I  used  to  think  of  Rosslyn  as  some  princess 
in  the  Arabian  Nights,  and  wonder  who  would  be  the  hero  that 
would  some  day  disenchant  her,  or  rather  waken  her  into  real  life, 
where  the  enchantment  rises  out  of  our  own  souls,  from  that  part  of 
God — or  Love — which  is  within  us.  I  did  not  think  that  I — "  he 
stopped,  looking  down  through  the  stirless  warm  air  at  the  far  pink 
vail  of  peach  blossoms  over  the  hill  slopes,  a  quiet  smile  sleeping  on 
his  face,  a  womanish  color  in  his  cheeks. 

The  surgeon's  voice  rasped  through  the  silence. 

"  Curious  old  myths  those  of  the  Arabs ;  but  false  to  nature — 
false  to  nature !  No  wonder  that  we  dote  on  them  in  childhood. 
The  king  has  always  two  sons,  and  to  one  falls  the  princess  and  the 
triumphs  ;  the  people  shout  for  him  ;  the  kingdom  is  his  in  the  end ; 
while  the  other,  whom  the  good  God  made  the  same  in  the  begin~ 
ning,  is  driven  out,  for  no  fault  of  his  own,  with  stones  and  hoot- 
ings  ;  and  that  is  all :  the  story  ends  there.  There  is  no  alleviation, 
no  redress,  afterward.  Some  crack-brained  old  star-gazer  invented 
the  tales,  doubtless.  As  if  they  could  have  a  parallel  in  real  life  !  " 

"  Assuredly  not,"  said  Randolph,  sententiously.     "  Men  reap  only 


238  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

the  harvest  they  have  sown  in  the  world,  is  my  theory.  Even  in 
this  life,  God  is  just. 

"  And  yet,"  pausing  with  one  end  of  the  linen  strip  in  his  hand, 
"  so  fortunate  a  man  are  you  that  I  should  be  tempted  to  call  you 
the  heir  of  the  king's  legitimate  sons."  Broderip  bowed  as  he  spoke 
with  a  smile  ;  but  Burley  winced  at  the  moment,  wondering  at  the 
contrast  between  the  pleasant,  soft,  hazel  eyes  above  him,  and  the 
steely,  vice-like  clench  of  the  thin  fingers  on  his  own  flesh. 

"  I  have  not  been  without  my  trials,"  said  Randolph  dryly, 
thinking  it  was  time  to  put  an  end  to  this  intrusion  into  his  af 
fairs. 

But  Joe's  shrewd  black  eye  had  been  noting  certain  lines  about 
the  surgeon's  set,  colorless  jaws,  and  the  sharp,  irregular  respira 
tions  of  the  narrow  chest  bent  over  him ;  remembering,  too  slowly, 
that  the  man  had  never  married.  It  might  be  that  he  had  met  with 
"a  disappintment  "  in  his  youth.  "  What's  the  vally  of  them  out 
side  things  ?  'Taint  married  life  as  makes  a  mean  fellar  a  man,"  he 
lumbered  out,  "  no  more'n  money,  nor  family.  Ther's  them  as  gives 
the  strength  and  love  that  wife  and  children  would  take,  to  the 
help  of  their  fellow-men.  'T  seems  to  me,  they're  the  fav'rites  of 
the  Good  Man,  though  sometimes  they  don't  know  Him,  owin'  to 
circumstances." 

"  I  have  no  faith  in  a  man  giving  up  his  life  to  humanity.  The 
philanthropists  I  have  known,"  said  Randolph,  hastily,  "  were  often 
cold-blooded  and  selfish.  Now,  look  at  your  Radicals,  your  Aboli 
tionists.  It  is  the  abstract  idea  of  freedom  they  care  for,  not  the 
black  man.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  a  personal  antipathy  to  the 
negro  in  the  North,  which  does  not  exist  with  us." 

Broderip's  cool  eye  followed  his  skilful  fingers  in  their  swift 
movements ;  he  nodded,  but  made  no  reply,  the  conversation  ap 
parently  having  lost  its  interest  to  him. 

But  Randolph  continued  to  turn  his  idea  inside  out,  according  to 
his  custom.  "  Why,  your  blatant  freedom-shriekers  have  no  idea 
of  the  close  and  patriarchal  relation  subsisting  between  a  master 
and  his  slaves.  My  own  journey  to  Kentucky  is  partly  to  attend 
to  the  comfort  of  an  old  servant  whom  I  have  just  heard  is  dying. 
To  attend  to  his  comfort,  and  to  question  him  with  regard  to  some 
family  secrets  of  which  he  holds  the  key."  For  the  story  of  the 
will  began,  like  a  festering  spot  in  Garrick's  mind,  to  thrust  itself 
into  notice  in  every  unsuitable  time  and  place.  With  Rosslyn  and 
the  Quakeress  he  talked  of  it  incessantly :  to  others  he  dimly  hinted 
it,  as  now.  Doctor  Broderip's  hands  paused :  he  half  turned  his 
head,  attentive. 

"An  old  slave?" 

"  Yes.     My  father's  body-servant." 

"Valuable,  no  doubt?" 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  239 

"  It  is  not  the  money  value  that  I  should  regret  in  his  death," 
flushing ;  "  though,  when  negroes  commanded  a  fair  price,  this  man 
would  have  brought  me  in  two  thousand  dollars.  But  he  was  worn 
out  long  ago." 

The  little  surgeon's  hands  still  held  the  ligature  suspended  mo 
tionless  :  Joe  fancied  that  discolored  blotches  settled  about  his 
sharp-set  mouth  and  jaws  as  he  turned  his  face  toward  Randolph 
courteously :  he  fancied,  too,  that  the  unequal  respirations  in  Lis 
bony  chest  were  inaudible  now,  altogether. 

"  A  high  price  for  a  man  of  advanced  age,"  in  his  shrill,  unpleas 
ant  voice.  "He  probably  had  some  merit  not  usually  thrown  into 
the  market ;  a  mechanical  skill,  for  example  ?  " 

Randolph  opened  his  calm,  blue  eyes  with  a  polite  surprise  at 
this  curious  interest  in  one  of  his  hands.  "You  have  made  a  sin 
gularly  correct  guess,"  he  replied.  "  The  man  is  a  dexterous  work 
man,  a  locksmith — was,  I  should  say,  for  my  aunt  writes  to  me  that 
he  has  but  a  short  time  to  live.  He  is  most  anxious  to  see  me  be 
fore  he  dies." 

"What  is  this  man's  name?  Who  would  have  been  worth  to 
you,  if  you  had  sold  at  the  proper  time,  two  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"  I  never  traded  in  flesh  and  blood,"  said  Garrick,  with  dignity. 
"  The  negro's  name  is  Hugh." 

Joe  Burley  uttered  a  groan.  "  Have  a  keer,  Doctor !  have  a 
keer !  "  For  Broderip,  intent  on  his  conversation  with  Randolph, 
had  wrenched  the  wound  half  open  with  a  sudden  turn.  He  bent 
close  over  it  now,  concealing  his  face  as  he  repaired  the  injury, 
gnawing  his  under  lip  as  a  man  does  who  is  angry  at  himself.  Some 
time  elapsed  before  he  had  finished ;  his  fingers  moved  irresolutely 
and  slow.  Meanwhile  the  silence  remained  unbroken ;  Randolph 
standing  by  the  window,  chafed  and  irritable,  he  scarcely  knew 
why.  When  he  had  done,  the  surgeon  stood  up,  wiping  his  clammy 
brow  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  wound  you,  Mr.  Burley,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I 
am  an  awkward  butcher,  after  all,"  shaking  hands  with  him.  He 
stood  by  the  bed  while  he  carefully  drew  on  his  gloves  and  but 
toned  his  coat;  then,  taking  up  his  hat  and  cane,  he  stopped  before 
the  young  slaveholder,  leisurely  surveying  him  with  his  light,  be 
wildering  eyes. 

"  Bon  voyage,  Mr.  Randolph.  Not  to  Kentucky — but  to  the 
end." 

Randolph  felt  the  generous  blood  burn  in  his  face  with  shame  for 
his  momentary  pettishness.  "  And  for  yourself,  Doctor  Broderip  ? 
We  have  been  temporary  comrades.  It  is  probable  that  the  stream 
will  run  alike  for  both,  and  the  end  be  the  same." 

He  held  out  his  hand  cordially,  but  Broderip,  looking  beyond 
him,  into  the  meadow,  apparently,  did  not  see  it.  He  said,  however, 


240  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

with  his  usual  slow,  perplexing  smile,  "  A  wife,  and  an  honorable 
inheritance,  and  a  father — " 

"  My  father  is  dead,"  hastily. 

"  Dead.  He  died,  doubtless,  full  of  years  and  honor ;  you  held 
his  head  on  your  shoulder  at  the  last.  Dead ;  but  you  will  tell 
your  children  with  pride  what  he  was.  You  will  have  children. 
You  are  a  fortunate  man,  Mr.  Randolph.  But  that  other  king's  son 
who,  for  no  fault  of  his  own,  was  driven  out  and  trodden  under  foot 
of  the  rabble,  and  died  on  a  dunghill — bah,  what  damnable  fools 
those  old  fable-mongers  were !  As  if  such  things  could  be  !  " 

He  passed  him  going  out  with  his  usual  long,  quick  strides,  while 
Garrick  looked  after  him  with  dismay. 

"  That  man's  eccentricity  passes  reason,"  he  said,  turning  sharply 
on  Burley.  "  There  is  the  flash  of  insanity  in  his  eye." 

Joe  rolled  his  head  uneasily  on  the  pillow  once  or  twice,  and 
crossed  his  arms  over  it  before  replying. 

"  Insane,  eh?  No,  he's  as  sane  as  you  nor  me.  But,"  he  added 
silently  to  himself,  "  there's  more  in  that  little  fellar  than  ever  your 
insight'll  discover,  please  God." 

Joe  was  quiet  that  evening  ;  talked  but  little  when  they  gathered 
as  usual  in  his  chamber,  some  anxious  trouble  seeming  to  lie  dor 
mant  in  his  small,  black  eye.  He  gave  it  no  expression,  however, 
but  once,  when  Rosslyn  stooped  over  him  to  say  good  night. 
Catching  a  handful  of  her  soft  hair  he  pulled  it  gently  again  and 
again  through  his  fingers.. 

"  You're  a  lucky  child,  Rossline.  I  seen  that  in  your  face  when 
you  wur  a  whimpering  baby.  Though  you  think  you've  had  your 
cross  to  carry ;  no  doubt — no  doubt !  It's  feather  light,  gal.  I 
tell  you,  ther's  men  I  know  that's  bin  goin'  through  life  bound 
hand  and  foot  with  chains  that  were  none  of  their  makin'.  Circum 
stances,  like." 

"  I  consider  such  views  morbid.  A  man  may  conquer  any  cir 
cumstances,"  said  Randolph,  dogmatically. 

"I  doubt  that,  lad;  I  doubt.  The  best  we  can  do  sometimes  is 
jest  to  kerry  our  load.  As  for  bein'  morbid,  it's  easy  for  a  man  to 
hev  a  healthy  brain  thet's  had  a  chance  at  the  best  things  in  life, 
and  good  blood  and  an  active  workin'  liver  and  digestion  to  back 
him.  But  he  ken't  shut  our  eyes  by  cryin'  '  morbid '  to  the  fact 
that  ther's  other  men  under  the  same  roof,  maybe,  whose  chance 
wur  shet  off  before  they  wur  born,  that  they're  lit'rally  here  besi<Je 
us,  like  them  the  old  church  prayer  talks  of,  *  sittin'  in  darkness, 
bound  in  affliction,  and  in  iron  ! ' " 

"I  presume  you  mean,"  said  Garrick,  with  a  puzzled  look,  "those 
on  whom  rests  some  stigma  of  disgrace  from  the  crimes  of  their 
forefathers.  Those  are  among  the  laws  of  society  which  I  consider 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  241 

just  and  unalterable.     We  have  scripture  warranty  for  them,  c  Unto 
the  third  and  fourth  generation — '" 

"  But  what  if  the  disgrace  is  ther  without  the  crime  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  such  cases,"  dryly. 

"  No.  And  it's  not  likely,  Mr.  Randolph,  that  your  eyes  will 
ever  see  them,"  said  Burley,  stroking  Ross'  hand  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

The  next  day  he  asked  Garrick  particularly  about  the  old  negro 
who  was  said  to  be  dying.  "  He  hed  wife  and  children,  likely  ?  " 

"  His  wife,"  Randolph  said,  carelessly,  "  belonged  to  the  Streb- 
lings.  There  were  two  sons,  I  believe.  One  is  living  now,  the 
other  was  sold  or  died  in  the  North,  I  think  I  have  heard  James 
Strebling  say." 

"  So  the  poor  fellar  is  alone  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  well  cared  for.  And  filial  or  paternal  affection  is 
not  likely  to  be  very  strong  after  an  absence  of  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury." 

"  True;  I  did  not  think  of  that." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    HOUSE    BUILT    UPON    THE    SAND. 

ROSSLYN'S  wedding-day.  Old  Joe  had  decided  the  time  and  place 
for  the  ordinance,  as  Randolph  termed  it,  in  a  few  words. 

"  Ther's  no  church  as  sacred  to  an  innocent  young  gal  as  the 
home  where  God  and  her  friends  has  lied  her  in  keer.  Let  Ross- 
line  be  married  at  home,  and  in  the  mornin'.  She  belongs  to  the 
daylight.  It  wouldn't  be  seemly  to  hev  gas-lights  and  false  flowers 
and,  sham  friends  about  Sweetheart." 

Garrick  had  assented  with  a  covert  smile  at  the  old  man's  absurd 
fancy.  But  he  thought  it  most  prudent  that  the  ceremony  should 
pass  over  without  ostentation  of  any  kind.  If  there  was  an  evening 
crowd  and  Friend  Blahchard's  acquaintances  came  (among  whom 
he  was  convinced  his  future  wife  had  been  admitted  on  sufferance), 
he  knew  the  surmises  that  would  be  made  and  the  questions  asked. 
He  could  guess  the  politely  vailed  wonder  in  Mrs.  Ottley's  eyes  and 
those  of  her  set,  to  see  a  Randolph  marry  the  base-born  grandchild 
of  a  laborer!  He  knew  he  was  doing  an  heroic  tiling,  but  he  had 
no  appetite  for  applause.  On  the  contrary,  he  assured  himself 
fiercely  that  he  could  live  outside  of  the  circle  that  called  itself 
well-born ;  could  give  scorn  for  scorn.  It  angered  him  to  see  the 
unconscious  good  humor  with  which  Ross  met  them.  In  writing  to 
Aunt  Laura  Page,  too,  to  announce  his  marriage  he  used,  without 
16 


242  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

knowing  it,  a  half-defiant  tone.  Ross  wrote  a  line  at  the  end  of 
the  letter.  It  was  her  own  doing.  "  She  has  been  like  a  mother  to 
you,  you  said  ?  "  taking  up  the  pen.  Randolph,  uncertain  whether 
the  proceeding  were  conventional  or  not,  looked  on  with  his  brows 
knit,  drumming  with  his  fingers  on  his  chin.  Rosslyn's  cheeks  grew 
red,  and  her  lips  quivered  as  she  wrote,  though  the  words  as  Gar- 
rick  read  them  were  to  him  simple  and  ordinary  enough. 

But  they  brought  the  tears  into  the  old  lady's  eyes  ;  and  when 
she  sat  down  with  her  stately,  agitated  flutter  to  answer  the  letter, 
it  was  to  Ross  she  wrote  rather  than  Garrick.  The  earnest  little 
message  had  somehow  brought  back  the  days  when  she  herself  was 
looking  forward  to  being  a  wife,  and  afterward  a  mother;  and  the 
stooped  old  breast  in  which  the  milk  had  dried  half  a  century  ago, 
yearned  over  the  girl  as  though  she  had  been  that  one  child  that 
was  nursed  there  once,  and  after  a  few  months  lay  dead  upon  it. 

But  as  the  days  passed  slowly  toward  the  wedding  morning, 
Garrick  grew  conscious  of  a  great  stillness — a  Sabbath  pause  creep 
ing  over  his  heart,  as  though  husk  after  husk  of  surface  fancies  and 
emotions  fell  off,  and  the  truth  beneath  the  vital  pulse  of  all  tears 
and  laughter  lay  bare  under  this  May  sunshine  and  wind.  He 
thought  that  he  could  read  the  same  thought  in  Joe  Burley's  and 
Rosslyn's  sincere  eyes.  He  began  to  doubt  if  birth  or  education  im 
ported  anything,  provided —  Then  he  forgot  to  doubt,  even.  They 
were  very  quiet  in  those  days ;  talked  in  monosyllables,  laughed 
but  little.  Whatever  was  most  womanish  in  Randolph's  nature 
came  slowly  to  the  light.  He  hung  about  the  house  perpetually; 
noted  with  keen  pleasure  the  zealous  efforts  of  Matsy  and  old  John 
to  make  the  wedding  breakfast  worthy  of  Ross  ;  fingered  her  few 
new  dresses,  more  delighted  even  with  their  sheen  or  softness  than 
she.  When  he  could  not  follow  her  about,  he  loitered  in  the  sunny 
little  dining-room  or  in  the  garden,  smoking,  stroking  his  whiskers. 
The  lilac  bushes,  the  yellow  daffodils,  the  horned  columbine  flowers 
of  dusky  red  hanging  over  the  low  stone  wall  seemed  to  him 
strangely  akin  to  the  flowers  of  his  childhood;  sounds,  scents, 
snatches  of  tunes  he  had  whistled  when  a  boy  began  to  come  back 
unsummoned  to  him.  The  world  outside  by  day,  the  dusty  Wash 
ington  streets,  or  the  hot  opera  at  night,  where  Mrs.  Ottley  and  her 
clique  pored  over  the  libretto,  grew  unreal,  incredible  to  him.  It 
was  as  if  he  and  Ross  were  two  children  going  hand  in  hand  into 
a  new  country :  the  days,  the  meals  he  ate,  were  as  unlike  to  or 
dinary  days  and  meals  as  the  manna  which  God  gave  fresh  every 
morning  to  the  Israelites  was  to  bought  bread. 

The  Sunday  before  the  day  of  their  marriage  he  took  Ross  to  a 
little  country  church,  and  side  by  side  they  knelt  and  received  the 
holy  communion.  They  did  not  speak  to  each  other  as  they  went 
home ;  it  seemed  to  Garrick  that  in  God's  eyes  they  were  married 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  243 

then  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him,  too,  as~  if  the  Christ  that  died  on  Cal 
vary  came  no  nearer  to  him  through  the  sacred  bread  and  wine 
than  through  the  woman's  hand  laid  on  his  arm.  He  had  been  a 
"  professor  "  since  he  was  a  boy,  but  to-day  his  hand  was  on  the 
door  that  opened  into  truth ;  and  let  what  crime  or  shame  follow 
that  would,  when  his  day  of  trial  came  he  would  never  lose  alto 
gether  his  hold.  With  his  usual  leaky  habit,  he  diluted  all  his  feel 
ings  into  words,  and  confided  them  to  Ross. 

The  wedding  morning  came. 

Afterward,  he  remembered  how  unlike  all  other  brides  she  was — 
unlike  her  old  self — curiously  divested  of  all  ornament  and  of  all 
the  commonplace  symbols.  Now  Garrick,  when  dressing  in  the 
murky  dawn,  had  lingered  over  collar,  cravat  and  gloves  with  boy 
ish  anxiety.  She  was  so  peerless  he  would  fain  do  her  honor  in 
even  this  trifle.  Then  he  smiled  at  his  pale  distorted  face  in  the 
mirror,  chaffing  himself  with  a  hackneyed  bit  of  college  Latin, 
which  died  on  his  lips  and  ended  in  a  prayer — as  much  to  the  poor 
fellow's  dead  mother  as  to  God.  Then  he  rode  out  to  the  farm 
house. 

Old  Joe,  Friend  Blanchard,  and  Ross'  old  pastor  were  in  the  lit 
tle  parlor.  The  early  morning  air  coming  through  the  open  win 
dow  stirred  the  faint  escaping  fragrance  of  the  wild  flowers  that 
filled  the  room — a  fragrance  which  seemed  to  him  the  very  breath 
of  Nature,  of  the  wet  rose-color  and  gray  of  the  sky,  of  the  dewy 
fields,  of  the  woman  who  was  Nature's  child.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
this  fancy,  he  had  a  startled  sense  of  disappointment  when  she 
entered,  to  find  that  she  did  not  wear  the  Randolph  diamonds 
that  Aunt  Laura  had  sent  her,  and  that  her  dress  was  not  the  con 
ventional  white,  but  the  tender  sincere  blue,  which  she  always 
wore.  It  floated  like  a  morning  mist  about  her  delicate,  stately 
limbs ;  in  her  hair  there  were  only  starry  white  blossoms  with  a 
flush  at  their  heart,  which  old  Joe  had  gathered  from  the  peach 
tree. 

At  least,  she  had  the  will  to  wear  her  mother  Nature's  own  or 
naments  and  no  other.  But  when  he  held  the  firm  light  fingers  in 
his  he  saw  only  the  story  told  in  her  pale,  passionate  cheek,  and  the 
promise  in  her  quiet  brown  eyes. 

While  the  wholesome  cool  wind  blew  into  the  room,  and  the 
clear  May  daylight  fell  about  them  they  were  married.  Omens  of 
wind  and  daylight  mattered  nothing  to  Friend  Blanchard.  She 
"  had  seen  many  a  tree  planted  on  a  fair  day  with  canker  at  its 
roots."  There  was  the  gall  of  bitterness  in  her  heart  as  she  looked 
at  Randolph  while  the  few  words  were  spoken ;  but  the  wily  old 
courtier  greeted  him  the  next  moment  with  a  beaming  eye  and 
eager  shake  of  the  hand  for  Ross'  sake. 

As  for  Randolph,  her  gall  or  her  suavity  were  alike  indifferent 


244  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

to  him.  He  had  mounted  the  highest  peak  of  life,  and  all  below 
was  warmth  and  light.  He  leaned  against  the  window  ledge,  his 
fingers  playing  complacently  with  his  ruddy  brown  beard,  as  old 
Joe  drew  his  grandchild  up  before  him,  and,  with  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  looked  down  into  her  face.  They  were  both  reticent 
people.  Garrick  could  not  tell  what  meaning  in  their  eyes  took 
the  place  of  words ;  every  feeling  or  fancy  of  his  own  during  the 
past  three  months  had  been  dribbled  out  to  Rosslyn.  But  of  her's 
he  knew  nothing ;  it  never  had  occurred  to  him,  in  fact,  that  she 
might  have  any. 

She  was  his  :  that  was  all  he  cared  to  know. 

Joe  smiled  at  last,  as  he  kissed  her  cheeks  and  mouth  in  his  old 
fashion.  "  Nothin'  hes  oome  between  you  and  me,  Sweetheart," 
he  said.  "As  for  what  I  hope  fur  you  two,  Mr.  Randolph,"  rais 
ing  his  voice,  cheerfully,  "Rossline  knows;  an'  Him  that  has  you 
in  keer.  I  think  the  day  will  be  sunshiny — I  think  fur  sartain  it 
will,"  slowly. 

"  To  breakfast !  to  breakfast !  "  cried  Friend  Blanchard. 

The  play  was  done,  and  the  curtain  dropped. 

Randolph  sat  down  beside  his  wife  with  some  such  book-notion  of 
marriage  in  his  brain.  The  experimental  time  for  passion,  essay, 
groping  with  him  was  over ;  he  was  nearing  middle-age ;  he  had 
gone  through  the  heats  and  chills  of  perilous  youth,  thwarted  the 
difficulties,  single-handed ;  Rosslyn,  hardly  won  and  beautiful,  was 
beside  him;  he  held  the  reins  of  life  easily  in  his  hand;  he  was 
already  to  himself  the  good  citizen,  the  just  master,  the  husband 
whose  tenderness  should  never  recall  to  his  wife  the  gulf  that  he 
had  passed  to  reach  her.  So  let  the  curtain  fall ! 

Joe,  with  his  dogged  devotion  to  Ross,  and  Friend  Blanchard, 
with  both  money  and  subtle  instinct  as  tools  for  her  affection,  hav 
ing  determined  that  the  day  should  be  the  crown  and  flower  of  the 
girl's  life,  it  passed  for  her  filled  with  sunshine  and  perfume.  They 
kept  for  her  the  delicious  sense  of  solitude  with  Randolph,  on  the 
verge  of  the  new  world  through  which  they  were  to  journey  hand 
in  hand.  But  Ross  had  countless  true  lovers,  and  their  calls  of 
good- will  after  her  meant  much  to  the  woman  whose  every  step 
through  life  had  been  conquered.  There  were  letters,  messages, 
gifts  :  from  Mr.  Ottley's  yellow  Miiller  before  letters,  and  his  wife's 
massive  epergne,  to  a  cheap  nosegay  of  white  road  flowers.  Ross 
received  them  all  ajike,  cordially,  and,  strange  to  say,  Randolph, 
from  the  messages  that  came  with  them,  gained  a  clearer  idea  of 
his  wife's  personality  than  he  had  yet  done.  The  little  artist,  with 
her  rare  beauty,  her  do w Brightness,  her  simple  manner,  which'placed 
her  on  a  level  with  any  genus  of  nobility,  occupied  a  place  among 
these  people,  he  saw,  which  mere  good  birth  could  never  give.  They 
called  her  little  clever  tricks  with  her  pencil  in  drawing,  genius ; 
they  would  have  made  a  notability  of  her,  if  they  could. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  245 

"The  flowers  have  a  curiously -unpleasant  odor,"  said  Friend 
Blanchard,  picking  up  the  bunch  of  white  blossoms  during  the  day, 
from  the  table. 

"  They  came  from  SchefFer's  '  boy,'  who  is  a  man  now,  with  boys 
of  his  own,"  said  Ross.  "  He  left  them  at  the  back  door,  himself, 
this  morning.  He  walked  one  or  two  miles  to  bring  them." 

"  Faugh  !  "  said  Randolph,  taking  them  up  to  throw  out  of  the 
window,  but  Ross  rescued  them  with  a  smile. 

"  I  give  up  no  old  friends  when  new  ones  come  in,"  she  said  calmly  ;  ^ 
the  common  little  bouquet  had  a  meaning  for  her  which  he  did  not 
know.  He  did  not  even  know  what  meaning  the  day  had  for  her. 
Inside  of  the  cordial  laugh,  the  affectionate,  helpful  look,  Ross' 
brown  eyes  kept  their  own  secret.  When  evening  came,  she  was 
passing  through  the  narrow  hall  into  the  garden,  where  Randolph 
waited  for  her ;  the  air  was  chilly,  and  she  stopped  to  wrap  a  white 
shawl  about  her,  when  her  grandfather's  voice,  with  Friend  Blanch- 
ard's,  in  the  adjoining  room,  caught  her  ear,  and  she  turned  to  go  in. 
She  meant  to  tell  them  that  no  little  surprise  or  pleasure  which  they 
had  crowded  into  the  day  ha'd  been  unseen  by  her.  It  had  been, 
as  they  purposed,  the  very  essence  and  prophecy  of  a  quiet,  full, 
home  life.  Perhaps  they  thought  her  heedless  of  it  in  her  new  happi 
ness — heedless  of  them  ?  She  was  pushing  open  the  door,  when  she 
stopped,  irresolute,  a  startled  flash  of  terror  in  her  eyes.  Friend 
Blanchard  was  speaking. 

"Untried,  I  grant  you,"  said  Joe,  interrupting  her;  "I  seen  that 
from  the  first.  But  love  is  a  safeguard.  Beside  principle." 

"  There  can  be  no  true  marriage  when  there  is  such  antagonism  of 
character  and  creeds.  It  is  the  house  founded  upon  the  sand — upon 
the  sand,"  Friend  Blanchard  exclaimed.  "  I  should  have  interfered 
at  the  first !  "  The  old  lady's  hands  chafed  together  as  they  lay 
crossed  on  her  lap,  and  her  chin  quivered  and  shook. 

"  You  thought   him  honorable,  and  worthy  of  my  gal  once." 

"  I  have  been  studying  him  thoroughly  since  then,"  with  a  deci 
sive  nod.  "  The  Randolphs  are  indolent,  selfish,  chivalric  to  their 
equals,  cruel  to  those  beneath  them.  It  is  the  legitimate  outgrowth 
of  the  Southern  creed.  Weak,  dull,  with  a  slaveholder's  con 
science — " 

Rosslyn's  hand  dropped  from  the  doorhandle ;  she  went  on  me 
chanically  to  the  porch,  stopping  there  in  the  light  of  the  setting  ,' 
sun.  At  the  far  end  of  the  pebble  path  her  husband  was  standing 
idly  picking  off  bits  of  gray  lichen  from  the  stone  wall.  She  looked 
at  him  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  coolly,  critically,  apart  from  all 
glamour  of  love ;  the  unending  journey  through  life  and  into  death 
which  they  had  undertaken  to-day  opening  before  her. 

" '  Bone  of  my  bone  and  flesh  of  my  flesh,' "  muttered  Ross  with 
colorless  lips,  her  eyes  upon  him. 


246  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  anatomist,  under  the  mellow  tints  and  lithe  motions  of  the 
human  body,  sees  the  loathsome  details  within,  which  may  never 
come  to  light,  but  which  are  there,  enduring  as  life ;  Rosslyn,  with 
the  light  of  Friend  Blanchard's  words  saw  another  man  slowly 
evrolve  under  her  hero ;  the  man  as  others  saw  him. 

It  was  a  noteworthy,  handsome  man  that  leaned  against  the  wall, 
dressed  with  a  finical  care;  inertness  and  sloth  were  in  every  slow 
motion  and  lounging  limb  of  the  bulky  figure,  incertitude  of  pur 
pose  in  the  unsteady  mouth,  obstinate  narrow  forehead  and  gen 
tle  blue  eyes.  She  remembered  that  he  was  dull  to  comprehend  the 
feelings  or  prejudices  of  others,  irritably  quick  to  recall  his  own; 
that  .it  was  true  there  were  harsh  discords  in  his  voice,  and  that  they 
only  were  used  to  his  inferiors. 

"  Cruel  ?  " 

Her  eyes  read  steadily  the  lines  about  the  thin,  un sensuous  mouth ; 
then  they  turned  to  the  sky  beyond,  steadier,  more  resolute  than 
before,  holding  their  secret  more  firmly.  Ross  had  gone  far  into  her 
married  life  in  that  brief  moment  of  insight.  She  had  looked  through 
the  mystical  angle,  which,  once  in  life,  according  to  the  old  super 
stition,  is  held  before  the  eyes  of  every  man  and  woman,  and  beyond 
which  lies  the  second  sight. 

But  what  she  saw  there,  whether  weakness  or  crime,  she  told  to 
none,  not  even  the  Master  whose  face  she  sought  in  that  quick 
glance  upward. 

Randolph  seeing  her  in  her  white  drapery,  through  the  red  even 
ing  light,  made  a  step  forward,  and  called  to  her  with  a  passionate 
gesture  of  welcome.  She  waited  one  moment  folding  her  arms  across 
her  breast.  It  was  as  if  she  ha  1  looked  down  into  her  own  heart, 
and  had  seen  its  possibilities  for  temptation  and  for  fall ;  yet  not  for 
herself  would  this  heat  have  kindled  her  eyes,  or  the  unutterable 
tenderness  have  throbbed  in  her  full  veins. 

"  I  know  him  for  another  man  than  they  know  him — a  nobler, 
better  one,"  she  said. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  He  who  looked  into  the  hearts  of  Judas  and 
Magdalen  alike,  with  clear,  loving  eyes,  came  between  her,  with  her 
shameful  past,  and  this  man,  with  his  unknown  future,  and  laid  His 
hand  on  each. 

Gathering  her  shawl  about  her,  Ross  went  down  the  path  to  meet 
her  husband  with  a  quiet  step  and  a  light  in  her  face  which  was 
new  to  Garrick's  eyes.  He  drew  her  down  on  the  seat  of  the  little 
summer  house,  about  which  the  vines  were  thrusting  out  their  apple- 
green  leaves  and  red  buds,  and,  stooping  closer,  looked  anxiously 
into  her  face. 

"What  is  it,  Rosslyn?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  house  against  which  the  winds  beat  and 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  247 

rains  fell,  but  which  fell  not,  for  it  was  founded  upon  a  rock,  and  I 
thought  of  our  married  life,  Garriak." 

He  touched  his  lipg  to  hers  with  an  uneasy  smile,  while  a 
startled  doubt  filled  his  mind  for  the  first  time,  if  all  that  had 
gone  before  were  not  but  the  prologue,  and  that  only  now  had 
the  curtain  risen  and  the  play  begun. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    HONOR    OF    THE    RANDOLPHS. 

AUNT  LAUKA  PAGE  thrust  Randolph  into  a  worn,  leather  chair 
beside  the  fire :  his  father's  chair,  he  saw  with  a  shiver,  that  grew 
out  of  the  excitement  of  his  home-coming.  The  old  lady  kept  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  her  thin  little  frame  shaking  with  tears  and 
hysteric  laughs.  The  rich  silk  had  given  place  to  a  plain  woolen 
gown,  but  the  diamonds  still  sparkled  in  her  ears  and  on  the 
wrinkled  hands ;  her  eyes  had  a  hard,  goaded  look,  and  her  face 
was  pinched  and  bitter. 

"  We  have  had  hard  work  here,  Garrick,"  whimpering.  "  But  no 
matter;  tell  me  about  your  wife.  You  left  her  the  week  after  you 
were  married ?  To  come  to  me?  That  was  kind." 

"  I  had  another  reason  for  coming,"  said  honest  Garrick.  "  There 
were  too  many  dangers  in  the  way  to  bring  Rosslyn,"  blushing 
boyishly  as  he  named  her.  "Eh!  Viny?  and  Cole?  Where  are 
you  all?"  going  to  the  door,  as  a  crowd  of  black  faces  appeared  in 
the  hall,  shaking  hands  on  one  side  and  the  other,  with  a  hearty 
glow  in  his  face,  remembering  how  different  was  this  cordial  patri 
archal  relation  between  himself  and  the  negroes  to  the  servile  hired 
labor  of  the  North. 

When  his  supper  was  brought  to  him  and  he  sat  eating  it,  Aunt 
Laura,  with  a  woman's  keenness  in  minutia3,  took  note  of  a  change 
that  had  come  to  him.  Plis  features  were  compacted,  his  eye  as 
sured  ;  his  voice  had  a  clear,  decisive  ring  in  it ;  his  step  was 
heavier,  his  sentences  smacked  of  everyday  life,  not  books.  "  He 
has  been  among  Radicals,"  she  determined.  "  No  doubt  he  is 
tainted  with  infidel  notions." 

When  they  were  alone,  she  filled  up  the  evening  with  the  family 
history  since  he  had  been  gone.  The  Pages  and  Randolphs  had 
suffered  innumerable  losses  in  the  war ;  the  young  men  were  all  on 
the  Confederate  side.  She  had  the  record  of  each  ready  for  him. 
The  instinct  of  the  clansman  was  strong  in  Garrick.  Listening, 
the  little  wife  he  had  married  in  the  Jersey  farm-house,  with  her 
queer  surroundings  of  Abolitionists  and  laborers,  began  to  fade  iu 
spite  of  him  into  the  background.  Not  less  dear,  but  more  unreal 


248  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  patois  Aunt  Laura  used,  the  names,  every  one  of  which  re 
called  some  train  of  association  rooted  in  his  boyhood,  her  opinions, 
the  creed  on  which  they  were  founded — these  were  his  native  lan 
guage,  after  all.  It  was  the  Nile  oarsman  coming  safely  back  into 
the  warm,  narrow  rim  of  his  boat,  to  his  droning  sing-song,  to 
his  eternal  Alia  il  Alia,  after  a  plunge  into  the  cold  and  doubting 
North  air.  The  new  ideas  which  he  had  caught  from  Ross  and  her 
friends  were  true,  perhaps,  but  they  were  raw  and  unaired  to  him. 
There  was  an  indescribable  sense  of  content  and  actuality  as  he  sat 
with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  lending  an  attentive  ear  to  Aunt  Laura's 
stories  as  to  old,  well-known  songs,  in  settling  down  into  the  nar 
row,  warmed,  familiar  limits  of  thought  and  belief. 

There  was  so  much  in  Ross'  antecedents  to  conceal,  that  he  avoid 
ed  her  name  as  dexterously  as  he  could ;  and,  despite  the  old  lady's 
kindly  feeling  toward  her,  the  burning  of  "  sister  Lucy's  house  on 
the  James,"  or  the  escape  of  "  George  Page's  negroes,"  were  natu 
rally  more  interesting  than  a  woman  whom  she  had  never  seen ;  so 
it  came  to  pass  that  Rosslyn  (who  was,  just  then,  sitting  sewing  by 
her  chamber  lamp,  her  few  ideas  centred  into  one,  blushing  and 
smiling  to  think  how  Garrick  doubtless  was  describing  her  to-night 
to  her  new  kinsfolk)  was  suffered  to  glide  unmentioned  into  the 
background,  a  beautiful  visionary  figure  to  whom  this  air  was  alien. 
But  Pages  and  Randolphs  here  in  this  old  clan  house  of  the  family 
were  solid,  corporeal,  and  at  home.  More  than  any  of  them,  the 
image  of  his  father. 

Sitting  in  the  chair  which  always  gave  to  him  the  sense  of  heir- 
ship,  with  the  consciousness  full  upon  him  that  he  had  come  back 
to  right  some  vague  wrong  to  his  father's  memory,  Garrick  looked 
up  again  and  again  at  the  shrewd,  benevolent  face  above  the  man 
tel-shelf,  feeling  it  grow  more  alive  with  eftch  moment,  and  come 
with  the  force  of  actual  presence  into  his  daily  life ;  for  the  man 
from  whose  being  he  had  sprung  held  yet  a  deeper  hold  on  the  real 
sources  of  his  nature  than  his  bride  of  a  week. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  he  summoned  courage  to  ap 
proach  the  subject  he  had  at  heart. 

"  I  must  see  Hugh  to-night,"  looking  out  through  the  window  at 
the  scudding  night  rack  across  the  sky. 

"  Hugh  ?  "  absently.  "  O,  the  man  who  was  so  urgent  for  you  to 
return?  No  matter,  dear  boy.  He  is  a  half-witted,  ill-conditioned 
old  fellow.  He  is  well  cared  for.  You  shall  not  vex  yourself. 
Murdstone  has  seen  him." 

"  Why,  Murdstone  ?  "  looking  up  startled.  "  He  seldom  will  pre 
scribe  for  the  people." 

"  No.  But  this  Hugh  had  some  whim  that  his  life  was  important 
— that  he  had  business  with  you.  Doubtless,  a  ruse  to  insure 
attention." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  249 

Garrick  rose,  losing  color.  "  He  had  communications  to  make  to 
me?" 

"  That  was  his  story.  But  there  is  no  haste ;  Murdstone  said  he 
might  live  for  years,  if  well  taken  care  of.  He  deserves  that.  He 
has  been  a  useful  fellow  in  his  day,  though  both  deaf  and  dumb,  as 
one  may  say." 

Garrick  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  looking  up 
furtively,  as  she  spoke  to  the  pictured  face  on  the  wall. 

"  This  man  was  a  favorite  of  my  father's,  I  have  heard  ?  " 

The  old  lady's  pale  eyes  shot  a  quick  suspicious  glance  over  her 
spectacles.  "His  body-servant,"  dryly.  "Is  the  want  of  proper 
assistance  much  felt  in  the  North,  Garrick  ?  "  changing  her  tone. 

"  There  is  something  held  back  from  me  about  this  man,"  shuf 
fling  his  whole  body  impatiently.  "There  is  a  story  of  a  will, 
whether  trumped  up  by  malice  or  true,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  came 
here  to  sift  it  to  the  bottom.  If  my  father's  honor  were  called  in 
question,  it  is  my  place  to  right  it.  It  was  unjust  and  cruel  to  con 
ceal  it  from  me." 

The  angry  heat  rose  to  her  face ;  her  thin  eyelids  began  to  flutter. 
"  Who  threw  imputation  on  Coyle  Randolph's  honor  ?  Who  has 
done  it  to  you,  Garrick  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  have  kept  it 
secret  to  guard  your  life,  boy,  if  your  father's  good  name  had  needed 
defence  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  ?  "  her  weakly  lined  face  growing 
intense  and  significant. 

"  Why  was  the  story  hid  from  me,  then  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  matter  full  of  pain  and  disgrace — the  quarrel  between 
your  grandfather  and  his  son.  It  was  Coyle's  wish  that  it  should 
be  forgotten.  Was  that  unnatural?  There  was  no  proof  that  the 
will  ever  had  been  preserved  after  the  first  angry  heat  in  which  it 
was  drawn." 

"Kit  had  been?"— 

"You  would  have  been  without  fortune,  Garrick;  but  no  less  a 
Randolph,"  proudly. 

"  Without  fortune  ?     A  beggar  !  "  vehemently.     "  I  do  not  find 
that  the  Randolph  blood  weighs  hoavily  in  the  world's  scales  with-  \ 
out  money." 

Aunt  Laura  drew  herself  stiffly  sreot,  with  a  look  of  grave  sur 
prise,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  Not  only  without  fortune,  but  the  Randolph  property  would 
have  belonged  to  James  Strebling  or  his  children,"  with  a  bitter 
scowl  never  seen  on  his  face  before.  For,  with  the  ingenuity  of 
self-torture  of  a  morbid  man,  he  had  secretly  pondered  the  proba 
bility  of  Ross'  ever  becoming  co-heiress  with  Robert  Strebling  of 
her  father's  money.  He  had  heard  the  story  of  the  long-ago  visit ; 
had  learned  to  understand  the  tenderness  in  Strebling's  tone  when 
he  talked  of  "Rosslyn  Comly ;"  it  galled  some  passions  within  him 


250  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

to  life  which  no  man  ever  had  suspected  in  the  gentle  scholar ;  the 
shame  which  Strebling  had  given  to  his  base-born  child  he  could 
forgive ;  but  the  tenderness — never ! 

Aunt  Laura  patted  her  fingers  together,  dismayed  at  the  cause 
less  white  heat  of  wrath  in  his  face.  "  There  is  no  need  to  vex 
yourself,  dear  boy,"  coughing  to  gain  breath.  "  There  was  no  will. 
You  can  assure  yourself  of  that  from  this  negro  Hugh.  He  was 
your  grandfather's  man  at  the  time  of  his  death." 

"  Where  can  I  find  him  ?  "  pushing  the  chair  from  him  and  taking 
up  his  cap. 

"  To-night  ?  He  is  lodged  over  the  tool-house,  as  usual.  But 
there  is  ample  time.  He  may  live  for  years,  with  care.  One  won 
ders  indeed,  sometimes,  why  such  useless  lives  are  preserved — 
poor  wretches!  You  will  go  to-night?  Good-by  till  morning, 
then,  Garrick.  My  nerves  are  all  unstrung,"  and  the  old  lady 
pressed  a  dry  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  and  went  hesitatingly  away 
with  her  little  minuet  step,  and  feebly  sad  face. 

Garrick  Randolph  did  not  go  out  at  once.  He  stood  on  the 
hearth-rug,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  looking  up  into  his  fath 
er's  eyes.  The  painter  had  caught  their  expression  aptly ;  they 
were  controlled,  concealing ;  he  knew  that  when  he  was  a  boy,  scan 
ning,  as  a  child  does,  the  faces  near  him.  Some  thought  hid  sud 
denly  out  of  sight  in  them  whenever  they  turned  fairly  to  another 
face. 

What  was  it  that  Coyle  Randolph  had  to  conceal?  His  son, 
staring  straight  at  the  daubed  canvas,  told  himself  that  no  life  was 
whiter,  that  it  had  been  even  weak  through  its  palpable  effeminate 
purity  and  talk  of  sentimental  honor. 

He  told  himself  this,  and  then  he  went  to  the  sideboard  and 
gulped  down  a  glass  of  brandy,  his  teeth  chattering  with  a  sudden 
faintness  and  nausea. 

The  healthy  night  air  partially  restored  him  to  reason.  He 
laughed  at  the  fancy  that  his  fate  depended  on  a  visit  to  old  Hugh's 
crib,  where  he  used  to  go  when  a  boy  to  have  his  tops  mended. 
He  was  making  himself  the  hero  of  a  melodrama  !  He  went  up  the 
ricketty  ladder  to  the  loft  with  something  of  the  comfortable  sense 
of  mastership  returning  to  him,  and  pushed  open  the  door  after  a 
tap  on  it.  The  room  was  familiar  and  commonplace  enough.  There 
was  the  negro's  wood-heap  in  one  corner,  and  his  cot  in  another ;  a 
tallow  candle  and  a  plate  of  rice,  boiled  wiih  flitch,  on  the  table;  a 
brown  and  yellow  jug  of  tea  simmering  on  the  brick  edge  of  the 
grate.  A  foxy  little  cur  was  staring  into  the  fire  squatted  at  the 
old  man's  feet,  who  was  rubbing  one  bare,  swollen  leg  without 
wincing,  though  the  pain  brought  out  clammy  drops  over  his  fore 
head.  Hugh's  words  had  been  sparing  through  life. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  251 

"Pse  glad  to  see  you,  Mars'  Garrick,"  quietly  turning  his  head, 
then  rising  to  drag  a  chair  over  the  floor. 

"  You've  been  ailing,  Uncle  ?  " 

"Yes,  suh.  Doctor  Murdstone,  he  say  dat  I  chance  fur  some 
years  yet  ef  I  stay  in-doors.  But  I  don't  know." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  heartily.  You  shall  be  well  nursed, 
Hugh.  You  wanted  to  see  me  for  an  especial  reason?"  his  voice 
changing  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  No,  suh ;  no,  suh,"  stooping  over  to  tie  his  shoe.  "  It's  not  dat 
p'ticlar." 

Garrick  was  used  to  the  shuffling  habit  of  the  negroes.  "  It  was 
a  mistake,  then,"  carelessly  snapping  his  fingers  at  the  dog. 

"  Dere  wur  one  matter  dat  I  counted  on  mentioning,  dough  it 
wurn't  of  no  account,  special.  I  tought  I'd  like — 's  I  wurn't  of  no 
use  hyar — to  hev  my  free  papers  fur  dis  time  as  's  lef  to  me." 

Randolph  drew  a  long  breath,  and  laughed  nervously  as  if  a  sud 
den  weight  had  been  lifted  from  his  heart. 

"  You  have  the  hobby  of  your  people,  eh  ?  What  could  the  name 
of  freedom  be  worth  to  you,  Uncle  ?  You  have  all  you  want  here. 
Though  you  shall  have  it,"  hastily.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  refuse  it 
to  you." 

"  No,  suh,"  patting  the  dog's  yellow  hide  slowly. 

Garrick,  who  liked  to  give  favors  and  to  be  thanked  for  them, 
looked  up  sharply  at  the  old  man's  quiet  indifference. 

"  When  kin  I  hev  dem  papers,  sah  ?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

"I'se  at  liberty  den,  to  go  and  come  whar  I  please?"  his  hand 
stopping  short  while,  without  raising  his  head,  he  waited  for  the 
answer. 

"  Do  you  want  to  leave  the  farm  ?  "  coldly. 

"I'se  'ill  leave  um.  Ye-s,  suh.  I'se  lies  all  I  want  hyar;  but  I 
hed  two  boys  when  I  wur  a  young  man,  an'  I'd  like  to  see  dem  uns 
wunst  'fore  I'se  put  by." 

"  You  are  going  to  the  Strebling  place  ?  "  with  quick  suspicion. 

"  One  ob  dem  lads  am  dere,"  slowly.  "  You  needn't  be  'feerd  to 
trust  me  by'm  Mars'  Streblin',"  with  a  meaning  laugh. 

Garrick's  face  sharpened  with  some  emotion  which  he  strove  to 
hide.  "  I  have 'been  over  hasty  in  promising  you  your  freedom,  per 
haps,"  he  said,  hotly. 

Hugh  turned  on  him  the  grave,  quizzical  old  face  framed  in  its 
white  wool  of  hair  and  beard.  "I'se  not  bin  hasty  in  askin'  dat  ar 
den.  When  you  was  knee-high  to  me,  Mars'  Garrick,  ole  Mars,  he 
bid  me  remain  long  ob  you  till  you  wur  of  age.  '  He'll  give  you 
your  free-papers  den,'  ole  Mars'  said." 

Randolph  laughed  incredulously. 


252  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  old  man  stiffened  his  little,  wiry  body.  Ignorant  and  dull  as 
his  face  might  be,  it  had  in  it  a  quiet  self-respeot  which  checked 
Randolph's  sneering  laugh.  He  rose  and  hobbled  over  the  floor  to 
an  old  tin  chest,  unlocking  the  padlock  and  taking  out  a  sealed, 
discolored  letter,  which  he  carried  over  and  laid  beside  the  young 
man.  "  De  man  what  wrote  dem  words  knew  what  I  was  wurf," 
he  muttered,  as  he  sat  down  again,  putting  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
looking  in  the  stove,  averting  his  eyes  from  Garrick. 

Randolph  took  up  the  square  letter,  sealed  with  wax  and  smell 
ing  of  onions  and  tobacco ;  the  first  glance  had  showed  him  his  own 
name  on  the  back  in  his  father's  writing.  He  turned  it  over  slow 
ly,  not  looking  at  it  again  after  that. 

"  I  know  you  are  to  be  trusted — you  were  my  father's  friend — I 
am  hardly  myself,  to-night — "  the  sentences  falling  mechanically 
from  his  dry  lips,  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  contracted  as  he  looked  into 
the  fire. 

He  was  gaining  time. 

The  old  negro  heard  at  last  the  wax  break,  and  the  rustle  of  the 
paper  as  it  was  opened ;  but  he  did  not  turn ;  sat  rubbing  his  skin 
ny  hand  over  the  dog  that  he  had  taken  up  on  his  knee,  the  far-off, 
s  back-looking  expression  in  his  hazel  eyes  common  to  every  man, 
black  or  white,  who  has  led  a  silent,  solitary  life.  Once,  at  some 
inarticulate  sound  in  the  corner  where  Garrick  sat,  he  half  rose, 
then  sat  down  again,  nodding  his  head,  and  mumbling  to  himself. 
Nor  did  he  look  up,  although  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  young 
man  got  up  and,  coming  to  the  stove,  stood  before  him.  The  letter 
was  not  in  his  hand.  There  was  no  agitation  in  his  manner  or  face, 
but  even  to  the  old  man's  quick,  furtive  glance,  the  whole  man  bore 
a  shrunken,  conscious  look,  like  one  on  whom  had  fallen  some 
moral  leprosy.  His  voice,  however,  beyond  its  ordinary  tones,  was 
loud  and  arrogant. 

"  You  did  my  father  a  service  ?  He  tells  me — it  is  in  this  let 
ter—" 

"  I  tought  Mars'  Coyle  ud  make  it  plain  in  dem  words,"  quietly. 
The  old  man's  face  was  a  mass  of  wrinkles,  but  the  hazel  eyes 
looked  steadily  out  of  them.  Garrick's  fell  before  them.  "  He  giv 
his  word  to  me,  and  ole  Mars'  was  an  hon'able  man,  although — " 
He  stopped  short.  The  blue  eyes  in  the  colorless  face  before  him 
flashed  up  at  him  like  a  tiger's  about  to  spring,  and  an  almost  im 
perceptible  shudder  crept  over  the  young  man's  whole  body ;  but 
he  held  himself  down,  and  after  a  moment  resumed,  cool  and  grave, 

"You  know  what  is  in  this  letter,  then  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  dem  words  hint  at.  Mars'  Coyle  said :  '  My  son, 
(which  is  you,  sah),  '  my  son,'  says  he,  '  will  understand.  No  one 
else.' " 

There  was  some  dormant  hope,chance  in  Garrick's  mind  of  a 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  253 

forgery,  an  impossible  idea  such  as  would  float  in  the  fogged  brain 
of  a  half-maddened  man. 

"  Why  did  he  give  that  to  you  ?  "  he  said. 

The  negro  hesitated,  shuffling  his  heels,  his  stubby  black  fingers 
working  in  his  white,  broad  shirt-collar.  "  He  said,  twas  to  make 
shore  dat  you'd  gin  me  dem  free  papers.  He  knowed  all  I  could 
tell,  ef  yo  did  not.  But  I'se  'd  be  slow  to  think  Mars'  Coyle  was 
'fcerd  of  Hugh,"  shaking  his  head.  "  We  once  wur  lads  togedder, 
yo  see;  campin'  out  'long  de  Cumberland,  bar  huntin',  for  months 
by  de  time.  Come  he  wur  growed,  't  wur  me  dat  helped  him  in 
dem  scrapes  at  collidge  ob  dicin'  an'  drinkin'  to  hold  it  dark  frum 
de  ole  man.  I  tink  Mars'  Coyle  nebber  'feered  ob  me." 

"  You  have  been  leisurely  in  claiming  your  freedom,  considering 
on  what  ground  you  ask  it."  Randolph  took  out  his  handkerchief 
and  passed  it  over  his  dry,  parching  face.  He  wondered  if  the  in 
sanity  which  was  said  to  lie  latent  in  every  man  had  come  to  him  ? 
His  soul  and  body  were  on  fire  with  something  akin  to  thirst,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  nothing  but  the  life  of  this  black  wretch  could 
quench  it. 

The  old  fellow  looked  up  bewildered.  "  Yo  mean  I'se  bin  slow 
'bout  dar  ar.  Jest  so.  I'se  tought  on  gwine  year  afer  year.  Dar's 
dem  cullored  folk  as  it  hev  took  dere  freedom  and  hev  bought  dere 
sons'.  But  I'se  not  got  dat  much  ambition.  I'se  no  great  hand  fur 
strokes  of  work.  But  I'se  'd  like  to  see  dem  lads — Nathan  an' 
Sap — "  a  smile  coming  on  his  face. 

Randolph  was  silent,  looking  down  on  him  with  speculation  in 
his  eyes. 

"  But  I'se  '11  not  delay  no  longer,  I  reckon,  suh.  I'm  bound  to 
see  dem  soon,  or  nebber  till  we're  crost  dat  wide  riber.  De  horn's 
blew  fur  night  wid  me,  Mars'  Garrick." 

Garrick  rubbed  his  large  white  hands  in  one  another  as  he  held 
them  clasped  behind  him.  "  How  soon  can  you  travel  ?  "  he  asked, 
clearing  his  throat. 

Hugh  laughed.  "  'Pears  to  me,  suh,  's  I  could  go  to-morrow, 
when  I  tink  ob  seein'  dem  dere  lads  agin.  Dough  it'll  not  be  easy 
leavin'  de  ole  place." 

He  looked  up  for  an  answer,  but  his*  master's  eyes  were  turned 
vacantly  on  the  floor.  A  negro's  and  a  child's  instincts  are  keen : 
this  was  not  the  man  who  had  been  willing  to  camp  and  track  with 
him,  whose  gambling  and  drunkenness  he  had  smothered  over. 

The  old  man  stood  up,  jerking  out  the  shirt-collar  further.  "  I'se 
perceive  yo  don't  put  confidence  in  me  as  Mars'  Coyle  did,  suh  ?  " 

Randolph  laughed —a  false,  artificial  laugh — but  made  no  reply. 
He  thought  he  saw  the  wily  old  schemer's  plan  clearly :  to  trade 
this  knowledge  of  the  will  he  and  his  master  had  destroyed  to 
James  Strebling,  to  gain  therewith  his  son's  freedom.  He  was  not 


254  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

too  lazy  for  that  stroke  of  work.  And  though  the  will  was  gone 
and  the  testimony  only  a  negro's,  the  Streblings  would  buy  this 
story  at  any  price.  What  did  it  matter  ?  The  property  rightfully 
belonged  to  them.  To-morrow,  Randolph  would  give  it  over — if 
he  were  an  honorable  man.  The  property,  and  the  honor  of  his 
father.  Already  he  heard  young  Bob  Strebling's  ribald  sneer  at 
the  mention  of  Coyle  Randolph's  name. 

"  I  Avill  leave  home — this  place,  to-morrow :  for  Mr.  Strebling's 
plantation.  You  can  go  with  me.  One  of  your  sons  has  remained 
there,  I  think." 

"Tank  yo,  suh.  Yo  don  know  which,  suh?"  knuckling  his  fore 
head  humbly. 

"No." 

"  No,  suh.  'Twouldn't  be  likely  as  yo  would.  I'se  '11  be  ready, 
Mars'  Garrick." 

There  was  an  eager  servility,  new  in  his  manner,  since  Randolph 
had  thought  his  sons  worth  mention. 

"  Be  ready,  then,  by  noon." 

Hugh  scraped  and  bowed  and  smiled,  but  elicited  no  response 
from  the  pale,  controlled  face  before  him.  "  I  kin  do  nothin'  fur 
yo  furder,  suh  ?  " 

"  No." 

Yet  he  stood  a  moment,  looking  at  the  wrinkled  black  face  grin 
ning  out  of  its  fringe  of  white  wool  at  him.  The  passion  had  faded 
out  of  his  own  quiet,  melancholy  eyes.  It  seemed  to  him  now  sim 
ply  pitiful  that  a  thing  so  mean  should  have  power  to  deal  him  a 
mortal  blow ;  a  blow  that  had  wounded  the  dead  in  their  graves. 

Turning  to  leave  the  loft,  he  glanced  back  into  it;  a  shed  with 
the  barest  shelter,  food  and  fuel  in  it  that  would  support  life  ;  and  that 
life  ?  Of  how  much  more  value  was  it  than  the  cur's  that  lay 
gnawing  his  bone  before  the  fire  ?  To  Randolph's  philosophic  eye, 
a  negro  had  always  been  a  necessary  part  of  the  world's  machinery 
of  labor ;  fitted  to  the  Southern  climate  as  the  draught  horse  was 
to  English  mining  sections,  or  the  light  mustang  to  the  Western 
flats.  Providence  was  wise  in  such  adjustments.  But  when  one  of 
these  tools,  with  the  passions  and  appetites  of  an  animal,  thrust 
itself  up  into  a  man's  path  to  foul  and  balk  it — what  then  ?  The 
wrong  done  him  was,  in  any  case,  hard  to  bear,  but  the  inherent 
difference  between  the  race  of  the  negro  and  his  own  made  it  gall 
ing  beyond  endurance. 

There  were  men  who  would  not  scruple  to  work  their  field-hands 
to  death  in  a  given  number  of  years,  as  a  matter  of  sheer  economy, 
regarding  them  simply  as  producing  power.  One  of  such  men 
would  soon  dispose  of  Hugh.  He  could  not  go  so  far  as  that — . 

Though  if  the  negro  were  dead,  Coyle  Randolph's  name  would 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  255 

still  be  pure  ;  and  he  need  not  give  up  his  grave  yonder,  to-morrow. 
There  was  no  evidence  but  the  old  man's  word. 

Hugh  stood  shifting  from  one  ragged  foot  to  another.  "  It  am  a 
long  journey  'fore  we  reach  Mars'  Jeems  Streblin's,  sah  ?  " 

"  Yes."  There  was  a  close,  penetrating  look  in  Randolph's  face, 
the  meaning  and  motive  of  which  fell  outside  of  the  negro's  brain  ; 
he  stood  irresolute  a  moment,  then,  with  a  grave  nod,  turned  and 
went  cautiously  down  the  narrow  stairs  into  the  moonlight  below. 
The  old  man  followed,  looking  down  after  the  athletic,  daintily 
clothed  figure,  and  scholarly  head,  as  they  disappeared,  making  a 
motion,  once  or  twice,  as  if  he  would  have  called  him  back.  But 
he  suffered  him  to  go,  listening  to  his  steps  on  the  tan-bark  path 
below  until  they  reached  the  house.  Then  he  went  to  his  wooden 
box,  and  taking  out  a  woman's  dirty  calico  needle-book  drew  from 
it  a  slip  of  yellow  parchment. 

"  He  didn't  ask  me  fur  de  will,  an'  'pears  like  I  couldn't  vex 
de  young  fellar  no  furder,"  looking  at  it  with  his  head  to  one 
side.  •  "Dough  I  see  he  tink  me  a  cussed  ole  liar;  an'  I'se  serbed 
him  faithful  'bout  dis  ting  dese  many  years.  But  I'se  '11  keep  it  fur 
him ;  I  nebber  seen  him  favor  his  father  like  to-night ;  an'  he's  jest 
married,  I'se  '11  not  be  hard  on  de  young  man,"  folding  up  the  paper 
and  restoring  it  to  his  hiding  place,  with  a  dozen  nods. 

He  covered  his  fire,  blew  out  the  candle,  and  whistled  the  dog  to 
their  joint  bed  of  straw  on  the  floor.  But  presently  he  sat  up  with 
his  hand  on  the  sleeping  cur,  staring  restlessly  into  the  smouldering 
embers.  He  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  two  lads  he  was 
going  to  see ;  he  could  not  force  himself  to  understand  that  they 
were  men,  and  not  the  scrawny,  bright  little  yellow  shavers  whose 
torn-boy  tricks  used  to  fetch  the  hot  blood  tingling  to  his  finger 
ends  with  delight.  He  would  only  find  one  of  them  at  the  Streb- 
lino-s' :  he  wondered  which  ?  But  he  could  sro  look  for  the  other 

O         *  O 

— being  free. 

He  got  up  and  began  to  set  aside  his  miserable  little  belongings 
in  lots  to  give  away  in  the  morning;  the  table  for  Yiney,  the  chair 
for  Sue,  the  candlestick  for  one,  jug  to  another;  such  matters  would 
count  in  the  cabins.  The  old  fellow  went  about  it  chuckling;  he 
never  had  had  a  chance  to  be  generous  before,  though  the  chuckle 
broke  down  now  and  then  into  the  sobbing  whimper  of  old  age; 
for  with  all  his  morose  silence,  Hugh  had  the  clannish,  absorbing 
affections  of  his  race;  the  twenty  negroes,  old  and  young,  who  had 
been  born  and  grown  up  about  him,  seemed  to  him,  to-night,  each 
one  part  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 

After  he  had  divided  and  re-divided  the  rubbish,  he  examined  his 
clothes,  which  were  patched,  but  clean,  pulled  out  his  broad  white 
collar  with  satisfaction.  "  I'd  like  to  make  a  'spectable  'pearance 
'fore  de  lads,"  he  muttered. 


256  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

He  tied  up  a  small  bag  of  meal  and  another  of  rice,  which  he 
had  been  saving  for  weeks  out  of  his  rations.  "  'S  likely  dat'll  hold 
me  's  long  's  I'se  widout  work,"  looking  at  them  reflectively.  "  Pse 
don't  want  de  boys  to  tink  dere  father's  come  to  hang  round,  a  no- 
account  free  nigger.  I'se  '11  not  go  empty-handed."  He  put  the 
bags  side  by  side,  and  his  brimless  old  felt  hat  beside  them  on  the 
table,  at  first  with  a  smile.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  at  them. 

"  I  tink  de  Randolph  'state  owes  me  dat  much,"  he  said,  a  sud 
den  change  coming  into  his  face. 

Out  of  his  long  life  of  patient  and  not  unskillful  labor,  he  had 
brought — that ;  his  ragged  clothes,  his  brimless  hat,  the  rations  he 
had  stinted  out  of  his  daily  meals.  Perhaps  Master  Garrick  would 
give  him,  when  they  parted,  a  five-dollar  bill.  He  squatted 
down  again  looking  in  the  fire.  If  he  had  been  born  white,  with  a 
few  years'  teaching  at  the  common  school,  he  would  have  been 
now,  most  probably,  a  master  mechanic,  under  his  own  roof,  child 
ren  and  giand-children  about  him,  taking  his  part  in  politics,  having 
his  word  in.  church  and  town  matters,  a  man  of  standing,  and 
name. 

"I'se  wurn't  a  hard  worker,  but  I'se  hed  a  knack  fur  nice  jobs. 
Pse  brought  in  hunderds  a  year  to  Mars  Coyle,  down  in  de  mill 
dar,"  he  said.  "An'  I'se  brought  nuifin  but  dat  yonder  out  wid 
my  gray  hairs  to  take  to  my  boys." 

A  strange  look  gathered  into  the  face  of  this  tool  of  Randolph's, 
whose  place  in  the  economies  of  labor  had  been  so  aptly  adjusted 
by  Providence;  an  expression  such  as  Coyle  Randolph  had  met 
there  once  before,  when,  years  after  Hugh  had  been  separated  from 
his  boys'  mother,  he  had  told  him  to  choose  another  wife. 

"  I  tank  you,  Mars,"  quietly  looking  up  from  his  saw.  "  I'se 
neber  bring  anoder  man  child  into  de  world  to  be  a  slave."  Coyle 
Randolph  wondered  dully  if  it  had  hurt  the  man  to  take  wife  and 
children  from  him,  but  thought  it  best  to  ask  no  further  questions ; 
and  Hugh  had  made  no  complaint.  But  he  kept  his  word. 

During  the  night  the  old  man  rose  two  or  three  times  from  his 
uneasy  sleep  to  rearrange  his  bags,  and  look  out  impatiently  for 
the  tardy  morning.  When,  at  last,  it  dawned,  he  took  the  will  out 
of  his  box,  secreting  it  in  his  flannel  shirt,  and  then,  from  another 
hiding-place,  drew  out  a  necklace  of  small,  dark  blue  beads  with  a 
gilt  fringe,  which  he  held  up  admiringly  in  the  dim  light,  polishing 
it  with  his  sleeve. 

<;  Nathan  and  Sap  ud  be  glad  to  see  somefin'  dat  de  ole  woman 
wore,"  folding  it  up.  "  I  kin  tell  dem  lajls  it  was  a  moughty  true 
heart  to  dem  an'  me  dese  beads  kivered,"  and  then  whistled  to  his 
dog  and  stirred  up  his  fire  for  the  last  time  with  shaking  hands  and 
a  feeble  chuckle. 

Randolph,  going  into  the  house  the  night  before,  had  seated  him- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  257 

self  with  a  cigar  to  quiet  his  nerves,  turning  his  back  to  the  face 
looking  down  on  him  from  the  wall.  The  lamp  burned  low ;  he 
trimmed  it,  and  took  up  a  pile  of  letters  which  Aunt  Laura  had  left 
for  him  to  read ;  letters  from  the  cousins  and  uncles  who  were,  with 
out  exception,  fighting  on  the  Confederate  side.  Garrick  read  page 
after  page,  blank  of  meaning  to  him,  conscious  only  of  a  stunning 
pain  in  his  brain,  which  no  cure,  he  thought,  would  ever  touch.  He 
thrust  one  scrawl  after  another  in  its  envelope,  dully  wondering  why 
he,  rather  than  any  of  these  feather-brained  boys,  should  have  been 
condemned  to  this  test  of  to-night ;  to  beggar  himself  with  the  same 
word  that  declared  his  father  a  swindler.  He,  who  had  kept  morals 
and  honor  so  jealously  pure. 

At  that  moment  he  opened  a  large  blue  sheet,  covered  with  his 
uncle  John  Page's  bold  characters.  John  Page  was  the  head  of  the 
family.  His  own  name  caught  his  eye.  "I  did  not  blame  Garrick 
for  espousing  the  Federal  cause.  Whatever  he  does  is  prompted 
by  an  honorable  motive,  however  mistaken.  He  will  do  no  dis 
credit  to  his  family  on  whatever  side  he  fight.  Coyle  Randolph's 
name  is  safe  in  his  son's  keeping." 

Garrick  laid  down  the  letter,  a  boyish  flush  on  his  face.  "  Very 
fair  in  Uncle  John,  very  fair.  But  he  was  always  a  just,  moderate 
man,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  character."  His  eyes  rested  on 
the  words,  "His  father's  honor  would  be  safe  in  his  keeping." 
They  seemed  to  him  more  than  a  coincidence.  Save  it?  How 
could  he  save  it  ?  Yet  nothing  stood  in  his  way  but  this  negro's 
life. 

Mechanically  glancing  over  the  page,  another  sentence  startled 
him  into  consciousness. 

"  We  need  laborers,  and  at  once.  Of  course,  Garrick  having  ta 
ken  the  course  which  he  has  done,  his  people  are  not  available ;  but 
if  any  of  the  planters  will  forward  able-bodied  men  to  the  govern 
ment  agent  in  Rogersville,  they  will  be  credited  and  amply  paid  for 
their  services.  The  agent  will  return  to  Georgia  on  the  4th.  Try 
what  you  can  do  for  us.  Sales  may  be  made  permanently,  if  pre 
ferred,  and,  entre  nous,  that  would  be  the  most  prudent  plan  for  the 
owners.  The  men  are  to  work  on  fortifications  and  railroads,  and 
will  not  be  worth  a  great  deal  when  the  contractors  have  done  with 
them." 

Randolph  held  the  letter  a  moment.  Then  lie  let  it  fall  as  though 
it  stung  him,  and  began  to  walk  unsteadily  up  and  down  the  room, 
even  that  motion  seemed  to  irritate  and  excite  him,  and  stopping 
by  the  window,  he  drew  the  curtains  behind  him  to  shut  out  the 
peering  light  of  the  lamp,  and  remained  alone  motionless  until  late 
in  the  night.  Then  he  came  out  with  his  usual  composed  step,  and 
selecting  John  Page's  letter  from  among  the  others,  folded  it  care 
fully  and  placed  it  in  his  breast  pocket. 
17 


253  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  time  of  departure  was  altered  the  next  morning  ;  instead  of 
noon,  they  set  out  immediately  after  breakfast.  Mr.  Randolph  did 
not  appear  until  the  carriage,  horses  and  negroes  had  been  waiting 
in  a  breathless  state  of  impatience  and  excitement  for  an  hour. 
Every  little  black  urchin  on  the  place  had  assembled  to  see  old 
Hugh  off ;  the  older  members  of  the  party  held  a  grave  consultation 
about  him  on  the  stable  door.  He  had  deposited  his  bags  under 
the  seat  of  the  carriage  ;  his  gray  wool  was  combed  to  the  extreme 
of  stiffness,  the  clothes  brushed  again  and  again.  Aunt  Laura  had 
sent  him  out  a  bundle  of  tobacco  and  a  bank-note,  and  Hugh,  in  his 
delight,  had  forgotten  all  his  morbid  notions  of  the  night  bofore. 
He  was  adorned,  too,  with  a  red  cravat  which  Viny  had  presented 
him,  and  his  black  hands  were  thrust  into  a  pair  of  kid  gloves  with 
gaps  at  every  finger.  Just  before  Garrick  appeared,  too,  Cole  hur 
ried  out  with  a  pair  of  half- worn  shoes. 

"  Dey'se  stouter  dan  your'n,  Hugh  ;  I  want  to  swap.  Dey'll  look 
more  'spectable  to  dem  Streblins." 

So  that  it  was  with  a  certain  self-satisfaction  under  his  shaking 
hands  and  distorted  smile, that  Hugh  presented  himself  to  Randolph 
ready  for  departure,  hoping  through  all  his  trouble  at  leaving  the 
old  place,  and  plans  about  "  the  lads "  that  his  master  would  ap 
prove  of  his  finery  as  presentable.  But  the  young  man  was  un 
usually  brusque ;  passed  through  the  bowing  and  grinning  crowd 
without  notice,  buttoning  his  coat  nervously,  a  cloud  in  his  stern 
blue  eyes  ;  and  when  Hugh,  after  a  final  chorus  of  good-byes  and 
wrenches  of  the  hand,  scrambled  up  in  front,  he  carefully  averted 
his  eyes  from  him  with  a  look,  the  old  man  fancied,  of  disgust. 
Turning  the  corner  by  the'  mill,  where  the  house  was  lost  to  view, 
Hugh  nearly  dislocated  his  neck  in  waving  his  ragged  handker 
chief  to  the  group  at  the  front  door,  and  then  settled  himself  with 
a  choking  sob  in  silence.  He  did  not  know  if  it  would  need  a  day 
or  a  week  to  bring  thereto  their  journey's  end,  and  to  the  boys  ; 
but  he  asked  no  questions  after  a  glance  at  the  pale,  resolute  face 
behind  him. 

It  was  near  nightfall  of  the  day  following  when  they  drove  up 
to  the  depot  in  Rogers ville.  In  an  outer  room  of  the  station  there 
were  crowded  about  fifty  negroes,  all  men,  some  of  them  laughing 
and  joking;  a  very  few  hobbled. 

"  Dem's  missebul  slaves,  goin'  down  to  Georgy  rice  fields," 
thought  Hugh,  with  the  new  pride  of  freedom  strong  in  him,  as  he 
lumbered  along  behind  Randolph,  his  sacks  under  his  arm. 

"Wait  there,  Hugh,"  nodding  to  the  negroes.  "I  must  leave 
you  here  ;  I  will  put  you  under  a  gentleman's  care." 

"  All  right,  Mars'.  Is  it — is  it  far  to  Mars'  Streblen's  ?  "  hesi 
tated  Hugh. 

But  Garrick  passed  on  without  answer.     A  lie  stuck  in  his  throat. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  259 

The  old  man  sat  down  humbly  apart  from  the  white  men  grouped 
around,  and  just  as  far  from  ihe  rough  negroes.  The  engine,  with 
its  fiery -red  eyes,  was  shrieking  up  and  down  the  platform.  His 
master  came  out  presently  with  a  wiry,  hook-nosed  little  man,  who 
scanned  Hugh  keenly  as  he  passed.  Then  Hugh  saw  them  enter 
the  little  office,  and,  going  to  a  desk,  exchange  papers. 

"  It's  my  free  papers,  I  reckon.  Dat's  all  right,  I  s'p »ose  ;  Mars' 
Garrick  knows ;  dough  seme  how  I'd  rather  have  had  dat  in  my 
own  hands/' 

The  whole  black  monster  of  a  train,  an  object  of  mortal  dread  to 
Hugh,  moved  mountainously  up  in  front  of  him  ;  and  in  a  moment, 
how,  he  hardly  knew,  he  found  himself  hustled  with  the  whole 
black  and  white  crowd  on  board,  and  caged  in  one  of  the  narrow 
dark  cars.  Looking  out  of  the  window,  he  saw  Garrick  in  the  twi 
light  standing  talking  to  the  sharp-looking  trader,  drawing  his 
glove  off  and  on  nervously  as  he  held  his  hands  behind  him.  The 
few  lamps  glimmering  dully  on  the  platform  made  the  night,  the 
moving  train,  the  wild  shriek  of  the  engine,  more  dreary  and  deso 
late  to  the  old  man's  frightened  eyes.  He  managed  to  thrust  his 
black  face  out  of  the  car  window,  and  beckoned  desperately  to 
Garrick,  nodding,  with  a  miserable  attempt  at  a  laugh.  "  You'L 
say  good-by,  Mars'  Garrick,  shure  ?" 

But  Garrick  held  his  head  studiously  averted,  though  the  agent 
looking  in  his  colorless  face,  saw  that  his  own  words  fell  on  deaf 
ears. 

"  The  old  man  is  scarcely  worth  the  carriage ;  he  will  not  bear 
the  exposure  of  two  week's  work.  However,  as  you  make  no 
charge  to  the  Government —  I  hardly  felt  myself  justified  in  re 
fusing.  *  All  aboard,  eh  ?  I  must  bid  you  good  evening,  sir,'" 
And  touching  his  hat,  he  sprang  on  the  moving  train. 

Garrick,  slowly  raising  his  head,  saw  the  old  man's  face  as  it 
passed  him,  peering  eagerly  from  the  dark  car,  and  heard  his  weak 
quaver  as  it  called  out  something  about  "  how  far  to  Mars'  Streb- 
lin's,"  and  then  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Then  he  adjusted  his  hat,  and  passing  his  hand  over  his  parched 
face,  wiped  a  fleck  of  foam  from  his  mouth.  He  had  saved  the 
honor  of  the  Randolphs ;  he  could  go  back  to  Rosslyn.  At  that 
his  eyes  turned  from  the  retreating  train,  and  from  the  stars  begin- 
ing  to  shine  in  the  dark  blue  overhead,  and  were  glued  to  the 
ground,  where  he  thrust  his  boot  to  and  fro  among  the  straw  and 
filth  of  the  platform.  He  had  no  will  to  do  otherwise. 


260  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

NATHAN. 

"  WE  differ  in  our  opinion  of  women,  Markle,  as  we  do  in  every 
thing  else,"  and  Captain  Knox  puffed  an  impatient  breath  of  cigar 
smoke  through  the  cool  evening  air  as  if  to  rid  himself  of  a  mo 
mentary  irritation. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  comprehend  their  wire-drawn 
sympathies  and  affinities,  Knox.  The  woman  I  love  is  an  enigma 
to  me ;  if  there  be  any  subtle  relation  between  her  soul  and  mine  I 
don't  know  it.  But  I  love  her,  honestly  and  above  board  ;  I'll  put 
what  strength  and  patience  God  gave  me  into  the  winning  of  her. 
If  I  succeed,  I'll  be  a  faithful,  tender  husband.  But  I  can  not 
promise  more  than  that.  I'd  never  enter  into  her  morbid,  hysterical 
whims.  I'd  cure  her  of  them,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  success,"  dryly,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar. 
Markle  strolled  up  and  down  before  the  tent,  whistling,  a  half- 
smile  on  his  mouth,  but  the  annoyed  frown  lingered  on  his  com 
panion's  face.  He  had  seen  the  woman  whom  he  knew  that  Markle 
meant.  They  had  met  her  during  their  Summer's  furlough — a 
daughter  of  the  blind  preacher  Conrad — there  was  certainly  no 
affinity  between  her  and  the  outspoken  little  Lieutenant.  Knox 
thought  there  was  no  chance  of  success  for  him,  and  it  angered  him 
that  he  should  have  invited  a  disappointment  which  promised  to  be 
deep  and  irreparable. 

"  However,"  he  said  aloud,  shifting  his  head  where  he  lay  on  the 
grass,  "  in  case  you  did  not  succeed,  failure  would  not  sour  or  em 
bitter  you,  as  it  does  men  of  less  mellow  temper,  George." 

Markle  stopped,  looking  gravely  into  the  Captain's  face.  "  I  do 
not  mean  to  fail,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Knox  moved  hastily,  making  a  motion  once  or  twice  as  if  he 
would  have  spoken ;  a  word  of  warning  now  he  thought,  might  be  of 
incalculable  benefit  hereafter,  but  after  an  uneasy  glance  at  Markle's 
little  black-bearded  face,  he  remained  silent,  and  the  subject  was 
dropped. 

"There  is  Burley!  Hillo,  Lieutenant!"  exclaimed  Markle,  as 
an  uncouth  figure  came  lumbering  up  the  hill.  Knox  smiled  again, 
meaningly.  Old  Joe  was  popular  with  all  the  men,  and  had  de 
served  his  promotion  ;  but  the  Captain  shrewdly  suspected  that 
Markle  chose  him  as  companion  beside  the  tent-fire  often  because  he 
had  once  known  these  Conrads,  and  now  and  then  made  incidental 
mention  of  them. 

"Joe  has  news,"  said  Knox,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow.  "I 
can  hear  him  muttering  to  himself  even  here." 

The  young  men  were  in  front  of  their  tent,  which  was  pitched  a 
little  in  advance  of  the  line  of  the  camp,  on  the  ridge  of  one  of  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  261 

sharp  cleft  Alabama  hills  that  run.  back  from  the  Tennessee  River. 
It  was  the  close  of  a  chilly  Autumn  day ;  drifts  of  silvery  mist 
floated  over  the  melancholy  valley  at  their  feet,  while  the  oblique 
sunlight,  touching  the  wooded  mountain  sides,  kindled  here  and 
there  a  flashing  answer  of  scarlet  or  crimson  flame  in  the  green 
foliage.  They  liked  their  new  camping-ground.  The  dry  surface 
tints  of  the  sky,  the  plumage  of  the  birds  that  passed  like  wavering 
flecks  of  color  through  the  dark  recesses  of  the  woods,  the  rank  pro 
fusion  of  poisonous  vines  that  matted  the  rocky  cuts  of  the  hill  with 
brilliant  blossoms  belonged  to  a  climate  new  to  them.  The  forests 
were  full  of  life  silenced  and  guarded ;  though  sometimes  at  nightfall 
the  "  craik  "  of  the  wild  turkey  escaped  from  the  nearer  thicket  or 
an  antlered  head  thrust  from  the  distant  shadows  provoked  an  inef 
fectual  shot. 

The  two  or  three  regiments  thrown  forward  along  the  line  of  the 
railroad  in  Northern  Alabama  from  luka  to  Tuscumbia,  for  its  pro 
tection,  had  found  their  sojourn  pleasant  enough.  The  Summer 
months  had  passed  since  Joe  Burley  had  recovered  from  his  wound, 
and  leaving  Rosslyn  to  await  her  husband's  return  from  Kentucky 
had  rejoined  his  regiment,  and  penetrated  with  them  into  this  new 
ground.  There  were  rumors  afloat  in  camp  to-day  of  a  contem 
plated  move  northward ;  a  vague  report,  also,  of  a  pressure  exerted 
on  the  President  to  force  a  proclamation  which  would  enfranchise 
the  slaves  and  enlist  them  on  the  Federal  side.  The  news  produced 
a  peculiar  unrest  and  excitement  in  this  arm  of  the  Government 
force,  thrust  forward  into  insecure  Rebel  ground. 

Contrabands  thronged  daily  into  camp,  having  caught  some  mys 
terious  whispers  of  the  coming  change. 

Burley  had  been  down  in  the  field  by  the  river  brink  where  they 
were  huddled  together  hungry  and  half-clothed,  joking  and  singing 
hymns  about  their  smouldering  fires  as  if  they  were  quietly  safe  in  ,^ 
the  "promised  land." 

"What  kin  ye  do  with  'em?"  Joe  broke  out  angrily  as  he  joined 
the  young  officers.  "  They're  a  gang  that  wos  bein'  druv  to  the 
Gulf.  It's  starvation  for  them  to  stay  in  camp,  and  death  to  go 
back  to  their  owners,  and  ther  they  are,  filthy  and  half-naked,  yha- 
ha-ing  and  cackling  over  old  jokes.  '  De  Lord  '11  see  to  dem.  Dey'a 
bin  expectin'  freedom  dis  long  time,'  they  say.  But  not  a  stroke 
of  work  in  their  calculations.  You  might  as  well  look  for  forecast 
in  a  baby  or  a  blind  puppy  as  a  nigger.  They  just  throw  them-  u 
selves  loose  on  the  Lord." 

"  One  would  think  they  might  be  tired  of  that,"  sneered  Knox. 

Burley  was  turning  his  cap  inside  out,  with  an  anxious,  signifi 
cant  look  at  Markle.  "  One  of  them  men  hed  a  queer  message  fur 
some  one.  Ther's  a  colored  man,  says  he,  in  the  caboose  in  the 
town  below,  that's  bin  ther  most  of  the  Summer,  bein'  caught 


262  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

makin'  his  way  to  the  Yankee  camp.  'He's  nigh  about  done  gone, 
massa,'  says  he.  *A  little,  bald-headed  yaller  fellar,  weak  in  his 
breath.  When  our  gang  wur  ther  in  the  caboose,  an'  he  knowed 
we  wur  goin*  to  break  fur  the  camp,  he  says,  Ther's  an  Ohio  regi 
ment  up  ther,  an'  you  ax  ef  ther's  a  Mars'  Markle  in  it,  an'  giv  him 
this  paper.  I  wur  follerin'  that  regiment,'  says  he.  '  Maybe  he'll 
help  me  to  one  day  of  freedom  'fore  I'se  put  away.'  That  sounds 
like  Nat,  Leftenant." 

"  Where  is  the  paper  ?  " 

Burley  drew  out  a  yellow  scrap ;  the  back  of  an  old  letter,  on 
which  were  scrawled  some  numbers. 

"  It  is  Nat !  "  holding  it  close  to  his  eyes  in  the  dim  light.  "  Poor 
wretch  !  This  is  the  information  he  was  to  carry  to  Garfield.  Too 
late  to  be  of  use.  But  he  earned  his  freedom  by  it.  In  the  ca 
boose,  you  say,  Burley?  Knox,"  he  hesitated,  "will  you  help  me 
in  this  matter?" 

"No.  I  hardly  feel  that  my  commission  justifies  me  in  running 
off  fugitive  slaves,"  whiffing  angrily  at  the  stump  of  his  cigar. 

"  As  you  will,"  quietly,  turning  off  into  the  tent. 

"  A  word  with  you,  Leftenant,"  said  Joe,  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder ;  and  the  two  men  walked  away  together. 

Captain  Knox,  with  a  shrug,  went  into  the  tent ;  but  he  came  out 
again  presently  to  watch  them  as  they  went  down  the  hill,  passing 
the  pickets,  toward  the  road  which  led  to  the  village.  The  risk 
they  ran  was  uncertain  to  him:  the  people  of  the  town  and  neigh 
boring  plantations  had  been  overawed  by  the  presence  of  the  Fed 
eral  troops,  but  he  doubted  whether,  galled  as  they  were  by  the 
rumors  of  the  coming  proclamation,  they  would  patiently  submit 
to  direct  interference  Avith  their  slaves.  Once  he  went  in,  armed 
himself,  and  prepared  to  follow  them,  and  then  sat  down  irreso 
lutely  on  a  pile  of  logs  outside,  drumming  with  his  fingers,  watch 
ing  the  road  which  they  had  taken,  until  late  in  the  night.  The 
songs  and  halloos  of  the  contrabands  down  by  the  river  added  to 
his  irritation.  "  What  can  you  do  with  them  ?  "  he  asked,  as  not 
only  Joe,  but  the  nation,  weary  of  a  so  far  ineffective  war,  was 
doing  at  that  time,  with  a  sense  of  over-burdened  impatience. 
Knox  was  a  thorough  American :  with  thin  lips,  restless,  doubting 
gray  eyes,  wiry,  fibrous  frame :  he  acknowledged  argumentatively 
the  wrong  done  to  the  slave,  and  his  right  to  redress ;  but  in  fact, 
the  very  scars  of  the  negro,  the  hurt  done  to  his  brain  by  this 
slavery,  his  lazy  good-humor,  his  lustfulness,  his  blind  faith  in  "  de 
Lord,"  jarred  against  Knox's  nature  at  every  point,  chafed  him 
with  an  unreasonable  disgust  and  choler,  the  more  that  he  could 
not  shake  off  the  consciousness  of  debt  owed  to  this  unwelcome 
man  and  brother.  With  all  other  Northerners  outside  of  the  Rad- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  203 

ical  party,  he  cast  his  eyes  to  Liberia,  to  colonies  in  Central  Amer 
ica,  as  a  means  of  disencumbering -the  country  of  them.  It  was 
the  old  story.  Prospero  could  not  easily  rid  himself  of  this  black 
Caliban,  whose  crown  of  manhood  he  had  stolen  from  him. 

In  spite  of  his  Democratic  principles,  however,  when  Captain 
Knox,  about  twelve  o'clock,  saw  by  the  starlight  three  dark  figures 
instead  of  two  crossing  the  field  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  only  no 
ticed  that  one  halted  weakly  now  and  then,  and  dragged  his  feet 
heavily  and  lame,  and  forgot  to  ask  whose  property  he  was.  The 
night  was  damp  and  chilly;  he  hurried  into  the  tent,  and,  making 
up  the  fire,  brewed  a  jug  of  hot  toddy,  and  brought  out  some  cold 
meat  and  bread,  lit  the  lamp,  and  went  out  to  meet  them.  Markle 
and  Burley  had  stopped,  hesitating. 

"  Come  in,  come  in.     What  are  your  teeth  chattering  for,  Joe  ?  " 

"The  fog  is  heavy  below,"  said  Markle.  "This  man  is  a  friend 
of  mine,  Captain  Knox,"  as  Nathan  stood,  bowing,  humbly  rubbing 
his  hands.  "  He  gave  up  the  chance  of  escape  from  slavery  once 
to  save  my  life.  But  you  are  a  free  man  to-night,  Nat !  "  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  suh,"  looking  down,  holding  his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  his  history,  Markle,  or  I  would  have  gone 
with  you,"  bustling  about  the  tent,  placing  Nat  in  the  warmest  seat, 
"  Had  you  any  trouble  ?  " 

"  None.  The  caboose  was  a  miserable  old  shanty,  and  the  guard 
half  drunk.  He  surrendered  at  the  first  glimpse  of  Joe's  uniform. 
You  helped  us  more  by  brewing  this  toddy,"  sipping  it.  Markle 
was  feverish  with  excitement  in  all  of  his  jerking  little  body, 
chewed  tobacco  nervously,  clapped  his  hands  together,  laughed 
loudly,  and  was  as  suddenly  silent.  "A  free  man,  Nat,  a  free 
man,"  he  cried  at  intervals.  Burley  sat  silent,  looking  heavily  in 
the  fire,  glancing  now  and  then  at  the  mulatto,  with  the  awed, 
sober  look  men  have  when  brought  suddenly  in  contact  with  death 
in  the  midst  of  a  busy  day.  Captain  Knox,  pouring  out  coffee 
cups  full  of  the  steaming  drink,  kept  a  grave  watch  on  the  bald- 
headed  little  man  in  the  background,  with  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
and  gaudy  ear-rings  dangling  at  each  side  of  his  sharp,  hungry 
face.  This  was  not  his  hypothetical  fat,  lazy,  sensual  nigger. 

He  touched  him  as  he  handed  him  a  drink.  "  Cheer  up,  sir," 
unconsciously  using  the  tone  he  judged  fitted  for  a  white  man. 
"  You've  had  hard  measure,  but  your  chance  is  come  now.  You'll 
find  the  world  just  what  you  please  to  make  it." 

Nathan  looked  up,  the  blood  darkening  his  face,  but  the  words 
came  slowly  to  his  untrained  tongue.  Before  he  spoke,  Knox 
turned  away  and  began  to  draw  on  his  boots  and  coat.  "It  is 
time  for  my  round.  I'll  leave  you  alone  for  an  hour  or  two.  You 


264  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

had  better  get  that  man  to  sleep,"  aside  to  Markle.  "  No  brain 
could  stand  the  strain  that  shows  itself  through  his  eyes.  Is  it 
possible  that  freedom  means  so  much  to  them?" 

"  Freedom  and  some  other  trifles,"  said  Markle,  coolly.  "  It  is 
years  since  he  saw  wife  or  child.  The  strain  would  tell  on  your 
brain  or  mine,  Knox,  if  its  only  relief  lay  in  the  daily  life  of  a 
slave." 

But  Captain  Knox  was  in  no  mood  for  argument.  It  was  easier 
to  turn  his  back  on  Nathan  and  go  to  his  round,  thinking  that  mat 
ters  would  right  themselves. 

"  Keep  him  away  from  that  crew  below,"  he  turned  back  to  say, 
however,  nodding  to  Nathan  with  a  look  that  had  as  much  respect 
in  it  as  kindness. 

Markle  came  up  to  the  mulatto ;  he  had  put  down  the  drink 
untasted. 

"  Why,  Burley  !  This  fellow  don't  understand,"  he  said,  heart 
ily.  "  A  free  man,  Nat.  Free  to-night !  " 

"  Yes,  suh.  Yes,  gentlemen,"  slowly,  with  a  feeble  laugh. 
"  Seem?  as  if  I  could'nt  re'lize  dat  ar.  It's  bin  a  long  time  comin', 
suh,"  growing  grave  again,  looking  wistfully  about  the  cheerful 
lighted  tent,  and  out  into  the  night  beyond  where  the  flapping 
curtains  left  an  opening  into  the  darkness. 

"  Dem  was  curous  words  dat  gentleman  said,  as  how  de  world 
was  jest  as  you  pleased  to  make  it.  I've  bin  thinking  of  dat  ar. 
It's  too  late  fur  me,  suh.  But  I  was  thinkin'  of  Tom,"  a  flash  of 
strength  and  triumph  coming  into  his  face.  "  He'll  start  different 
from  me,  suh  ?  Eh  ?  "  eagerly. 

"  To  be  sure.  Tom's  chance  has  come  now.  By  the  way,  have 
you  heard  from  Anny  or  your  boy  ?  " 

The  man's  apathy  dropped  off,  his  whole  bony  figure  grew  tense 
and  eager.  "I  lef  de  plantation  when  Major  Bob  sent  me  back; 
dat  night  I  leP  and  hid  in  de  swamp  till  I  make  my  way  out  to  de 
Fairview  place.  De  blue-coats  was  nigh  to  de  riber,  suh,  and  de 
slaves  in  all  de  plantations  was  makin'  dere  way  to  one  camp  or 
anoder.  Dere  was  stirrin,  whisperin'  all  ober  de  country ;  a  risin' 
like  de  Jews  dat  rose  up  in  de  night  to  seek  dere  freedom  when  de 
first-born  ob  dern  dat  held  dem  in  bondage  lay  dead.  So  I  makes 
my  way  to  find  my  ole  woman  an'  my  chile.  I  got  dere  late  one 
night.  I  looked  to  see  dem." 

"  Was  she  married  again  ? "  said  Burley,  when  he  stopped 
abruptly. 

The  man  drew  himself  up  erect.  "  She  wur  not  my  wife,  suh. 
But  she  will  not  marry  any  man  but  me.  Dey  was  gone,"  turning 
to  Markle.  "  She  had  taken  de  boy  and  gone  in  search  of  me.  It 
wur  two  months  since  she  lef  de  Fairview  place.  Den  I  turned 
back  and  corned  home." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  265 

"  Into  the  hands  of  James  Strebling  ?  "  said  Burley. 

"  I  couldn't  lose  de  chance  of  seem'  her  and  de  boy.  Suh,  Tom 
wos  a  baby  when  lie  wos  tuk  from  me,  an  dey  tell  me  now  he's  nigh 
as  tall  as  me.  Times,  I  tink  its  more  than  I  kin  bear,  livin'  year 
after  year  an  him  alive  an  me  forbid  to  look  at  him." 

"  She  did  not  come  to  the  Strebling  place,  then  ?  " 

"I  never  heern  nor  seen  naught  of  her.  I  hung  night  an  day 
bout  de  roads.  Dere  were  crowds  of  contrabands  flyin'  here  and 
there,  but  none  could  tell  me  a  word  ob  dem.  Den  de  oberseer  he 
find  me  and  put  me  in  de  calaboose." 

"What  will  you  do  now,  Nathan  ?"  asked  Markle. 

"  I  wus  thinkin'  of  stayin'  in  camp.  I'll  send  out  word  by  all 
these  slaves  dat's  goin'  to  and  fro  dat  I'm  here,  an  besides,  she'll 
make  her  way  at  last  to  de  Goverment  camp.  I'll  meet  her  surer 
here  dan  if  I  look  de  country  round  for  her.  Dat  seems  de  soonest 
way  to  me,"  looking  up  anxiously  into  Markle's  face. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right.  When  you  have  found  them  you 
will  push  on  to  the  North  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,"  he  hesitated,  rubbing  his  hands  over  his  knees  :  "  praps 
by  dat  time  we'll  be  'lowed  to  strike  a  blow  for  ourselbes.  I'd  like 
to  hold  a  gun  once  in  my  hand  to  help  my  people.  Dey's  waited 
long,  suh,  long.  I  heerd,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "dat  my  father 
is  libin  yit.  He's  on  de  place  of  M's  Garrick  Randolph.  I  can't 
lib  free,  an'  him  in  slavery." 

Joe  Burley  turned  at  Randolph's  name. 

"  Your  father,  eh  ?  an  old  man  ?  " 

"Yes,  suh.  Hugh's  his  name.  He  wur  a  famous  man  in  his  day 
for  lock-making  an'  de  like,  I'se  heerd." 

"I  know  his  owner,"  said  Joe,  after  a  pause.  "He  is  a  kind, 
generous  master,  I  fancy.  I  think  I  kin  promise  you  that  he  will 
give  you  the  old  man's  free  papers."  As  he  spoke,  the  recollection 
of  Randolph's  mention  of  this  very  man  Hugh  returned  to  him,  and 
the  conversation  which  followed,  in  which  Broderip  had  borne  a 
part.  Some  sudden  thought  startled  Burley,  causing  him  to  half 
rise  from  the  bench  where  he  sat,  scanning  the  mulatto's  figure  and 
face  keenly,  not  heeding  his  stammering  exclamations  of  gratitude 
and  surprise.  He  made  no  comment,  however,  until  an  hour  after, 
when  Nathan,  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  lay  asleep,  as  he  thought,  in 
the  corner ;  then  he  gave  vent  to  his  perplexity  to  Markle. 

"Ther's  a  curous  likeness    in   Nathan   here  to  some   one,  that' 
troubled  me  before  in  the  gap.     I've  found  out  the  man,  now." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Markle,  moving  sleepily. 

"A  surgeon  in  Philadelphia,  Broderip  by  name.  It's  not  only 
features.  Ther's  a  pecoolar  look  in  both  as  if  they'd  lost  something 
that  cost  them  much  and  never  found  it  agin.  Though  Nathan," 
reflectively,  "lies  the  honester  face  of  the  two.  And  the  old  man's 


266  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

name  is  Hugh  ?  "  sitting  up  on  his  blanket,  as  link  after  link  of  some 
half-guessed  riddle  opened  itself  to  him. 

For  some  cause  Markle  was  startled  awake  by  his  words.  "  I 
never  saw  this  Broderip,"  he  said;  "though  he  was  in  Dubuque 
before  my  last  furlough.  He  was  an  acquaintance  of — of  Mr.  Con 
rad's.  A  friend,  in  fact." 

"Something  nearer  than  that,  I  judge,"  said  Joe,  yawning. 
"  There  was  some  sort  of  a  betrothal  between  him  and  the  preach 
er's  daughter,  so  the  women's  gossip  went  last  Spring.  But  the 
little  man  is  full  of  his  whims,  and  his  love  blew  hot  and  cool,  they 
said.  Hows'ever,  I  heerd  that  he'd  follered  them  to  Dubuque,  re 
solved  finallv  to  bring  her  home  some  day.  It's  likely  he'll  suc 
ceed." 

Markle  made  no  reply,  and  a^ked  110  further  questions,  but  lay 
staring  out  of  the  square  gap  into  the  night.  When  Joe  was  asleep 
and  his  snores  sounded  through  the  tent  like  a  trumpet,  he  got  up, 
and  going  out  into  the  thick,  damp  fog,  sat  down  motionless  until 
morning  dawned. 

Nathan  had  caught  the  words  with  the  exaggerated  haste  and 
confidence  of  a  blind  man  groping  for  the  weakest  clue.  He  repeat 
ed  the  name,  Broderip,  again  and  again  to  himself.  Why  should  it 
not  be  ?  His  brother  had  had  education  and  friends.  Why  should 
he  not  be  a  man  of  mark.  If  he  had  had  a  chance  when  he  was  a 
boy  he  felt  sometimes  there  was  nothing  he  could  not  have  become. 
But  Tom  ?  It  would  be  different  with  Tom,  thank  God  !  He  could 
not  sleep.  Little  trifles,  remembrances  of  "  old  Hugh,"  of  his  bro 
ther,  of  Anny  and  the  boy  crowded  on  him.  Could  it  be  that  they 
ever  would  all  be  under  one  cabin  roof  again — and  free  ?  "  De 
Lord  Jesus,"  he  thought,  "had  taken  their  case  into  his  mind  at  de 
last."  Most  negroes  would  have  given  vent  to  their  joy  by  tears 
and  shouts  of  glory,  but  Nat  lay  quite  still  on  his  face,  his  knuckles 
pressed  into  his  eyes,  a  clammy  sweat  breaking  over  his  face.  It 
seemed  to  him  he  could  not  humble  himself  low  enough  before  the 
only  Master  he  was  ever,  after  this,  to  know,  who  long  ago  had 
said  that  He  meant  to  loose  every  bond  and  let  the  oppressed  go 
free ;  and  He  did  it  now. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE     LONG     SEA  EC  II. 

ABOUT  forty  miles  from  the  tent  where  Nathan  lay,  a  middle- 
aged  woman  was  plodding  that  night  along  a  clay  country 
road,  leading  a  boy  by  the  hand.  It  was  Anny  going  on  with  the 
long  search  for  him,  which  had  lasted  now  for  months,  but  her  back 
was  to  the  tent,  facing  due  south.  Nobody  but  the  stupid  mulatto 
could  have  thrown  the  glamour  of  romance  or  interest  about  her 
or  Tom,  with  which  he  had  surrounded  them  in  his  wordless 
thoughts.  She  was  a  short,  stoutly-built  woman,  neatly  dressed  in 
a  brown  calico,  with  firm,  slow  motions,  and  a  homely,  sensible 
face ;  the  boy  who  dragged  in  his  walk  besides  her  was  not  the 
"peart,  well-growed"  lad  of  his  father's  fancy,  but  stunted  and 
slight :  his  face,  as  he  turned  it  up  toward  his  mother's,  scarcely 
reached  her  waist.  The  night  lightened  after  midnight,  the  pale 
crescent  of  the  moon  hanging  low  over  the  further  hills,  throwing 
white,  vapory  shadows  across  the  mountain  peaks  on  the  left,  and 
glimmering  with  a  ghostly  pallor  on  the  river  close  at  their  side. 
The  Fairview  place  lay  in  level,  swampy  ground ;  until  they  started 
on  this  pilgrimage  the  mountains  were  new  to  both  woman  and 
child,  and,  although  they  had  now  been  among  them  for  months, 
when  the  ghastly  shadows  flickered  over  the  road,  and  the  shrill 
sigh  of  the  wind  rustled  through  the  defiles,  they  walked  closer  and 
held  each  other's  hand  tighter.  Descending  nearer  to  the  river's 
edge,  the  clay  grew  wet  and  heavy.  The  boy  stumbled  once  or 
twice  and  fell. 

"  It's  time  Tom  mounted  his  pony,"  his  mother  said,  slinging  the 
bundle  she  carried  over  her  back,  and  picking  him  up. 

"  No,  mammy,  no  ;  I'se  too  heavy." 

"  Hush,  now.  The  barn  they  talked  about  is  just  over  the  hol 
low."  She  had  a  strong,  cheerful  voice  that  she  tried  vainly  to 
bring  to  a  whisper.  Presently,  although  the  boy's  weight  hardly 
balanced  the  bundle,  she  shifted  him  with  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"  You're  growin'  a  heavy  boy,  you  are,  shore,  Tom !  " 

He  chuckled  delightedly.  "  That's  so  !  Seems  as  if  I  was  get- 
tin'  higher,  too,  every  day,"  stiffening  himself.  "  I'll  seem  like  a 
man  almost  to  him  when  we  find  him,  I  reckon." 

"That's  shore,  Tom."  Her  brows  knitted  and  her  nostrils 
swelled  as  she  spoke,  and  she  held  him  closer  in  her  arms.  He  had 


268  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

touched  the  one  sore  spot  in  the  heart  under  the  poor  yellow  breast, 
to  which  the  boy  was  strained  like  a  baby.  What  if  the  child's 
father  should  blame  her  for  his  stunted  growth  ?  what  if  he  should 
not  care  for  her  boy  ?  At  first  sight  he  was  a  sickly  little  manikin ; 
it  needed  to  know  Tom,  to  find  how  knowledgeable  he  was,  and  the 
fun  and  queer  notions  in  him,  and  what  uncommon  skill  was  in  his 
fingers.  % 

The  boy  fell  asleep.  She  pushed  on  for  an  hour  longer,  when 
her  back  began  to  give  and  legs  to  tremble.  The  long  jour 
neys  and  protracted  fasting  were  beginning  to  tell  on  even  her 
iron  frame.  Nearing  a  wooden  house  whose  long  veranda,  sup 
ported  on  piles,  under  which  a  half-dozen  pigs  were  sheltered, 
showed  it  to  be  a  planter's  dwelling,  she  skulked  behind  a  row  of 
china  trees,  past  the  negro  quarters  to  the  whitewashed  shed  used 
as  a  barn.  The  chance  of  sleep  and  the  smell  of  the  dry,  fragrant 
husks  quickened  her  steps ;  she  thrust  a  way  for  herself  and  the 
boy  into  the  loft,  and  heaped  the  straw  up  about  them,  laying  him 
down  carefully.  The  moonlight  gave  her  enough  light  through  the 
square  hole  in  the  wall  at  her  side  to  untie  his  shoes,  and  draw 
them  off ;  the  soles  were  half  gone,  and  when  she  tried  to  pull  off 
the  tattered  blue  woollen  socks,  they  clung  tight  with  matted  blood 
to  his  swollen  feet.  The  child  started  awake  with  a  groan. 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  of  this,  Tom,"  turning  the  cold,  little  lumps 
of  bleeding  flesh  over  in  her  hands,  holding  them  up  to  her  breast. 
"You  trudged  along  all  day,"  looking  at  him  and  them  with  her 
mother's  eyes.  "  I  never  kerried  you  till  to-night." 

"  I'se  not  goin'  to  have  him  think  me  a  whimperin'  fellah  when 
we  find  him.  Keep  de  shoes  off,  mammy.  Dey  burns  like  fire," 
his  head  falling  on  the  straw  again,  watching  her  with  heavy  eyes. 

Anny  was  a  thrifty  body;  at  home  in  her  garret  room  ehe  had  a 
shelf  of  bottles  of  herb  lotions,  goose  oil,  mixtures  for  colds,  for 
the  use  of  the  family;  but  now,  left  alone,  she  had  not  a  rag  or 
drop  of  warm  water  to  wash  the  torn,  burning  little  feet  of  her 
child,  in  her  hands.  Nothing  in  her  slavery,  nothing  in  her  vain 
desperate  search  had  hurt  her  as  did  that  little  trifle ;  she  laid  them 
softly  down,  getting  up  gently,  so  as  not  to  wake  the  boy.  But 
his  big,  hazel  eyes  she  found  were  still  fixed  on  her,  with  an  unrea 
soning  stare  she  fancied,  rather  than  the  ordinary  watch  they  kept 
on  her  face,  in  which  a  laugh  seemed  always  to  wait.  She  called 
him :  "  Tom  !  "  He  answered  with  a  foolish  laugh.  She  put  her 
hand  on  his  cheek — it  was  burning  and  dry ;  the  breath  came  with 
slow,  hoarse  respirations. 

She  turned  sharply  and  went  to  the  barn-door.  "  He's  worn-out. 
I've  killed  him  ! "  she  said,  in  a  shrill,  stern  voice.  She  stopped 
to  draw  one  or  tw<:  choking  breaths,  and  then  crossed  the 
yard  to  a  pump,  making  no  effort  at  concealment,  and  drew  a 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  269 

gourd-full  of  water,  which  she  carried  back  to  the  barn,  bathing  his 
feet  with  it.  She  hardly  looked  up  when  steps  followed  her,  and 
presently  the  sound  of  negroes'  voices  was  heard  outside,  and,  after 
a  mumbled  whispering,  a  gray-headed  old  man  thrust  his  black  face 
in  at  the  window. 

"  Whe's  you  am,  woman  ?  Whar  you  from  ?  What  ails  dat  ar 
chile,  hi?" 

"I'm  off  the  Fairview  place.     Come  here.     Hold  up  his  head." 

He  obeyed  her,  scrambling  in  at  the  window,  followed  by  a  half- 
grown  lad,  who  stood  apart  while  the  old  man  lifted  the  boy,  opened 
his  jacket,  and  felt  the  pulse  in  his  throat,  holding  his  head  criti 
cally  to  one  side  with  half  shut  eyes.  "  Dat  chile  wants  somefin  to 
eat  " — sententiously — "  and  a  night's  sleep.  Dat  feber's  no  'count. 
It'll  spend  itself  by  mornin'." 

She  had  gathered  Tom  up  to  her  breast.  "Eh,  dah — you  think 
so  ?  " — her  dry  hot  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  man's  face.  "  Mebbe  it's 
so.  We've  lived  on  parched  corn  and  berries  for  ten  days.  I 
tought  I'd  killed  him." 

The  boy  by  the  window  muttered  something,  and  went  headlong 
down  the  ladder.  In  five  minutes  he  was  back  with  a  bundle  of 
roasted  yams,  hot  out  of  the  ashes  from  some  of  the  cabins,  where 
they  had  been  ready  for  the  midnight  meal,  of  which  the  negroes 
are  so  fond.  In  the  other  hand  he  carried  a  jug  of  milk.  Anny 
fed  the  boy  herself,  while  the  others  broke  the  yams  in  small  pieces, 
the  two  black  faces  bent  anxiously  over  her. 

"  I  think  you  saves  his  life,"  she  said,  breathlessly  watching  the 
little  jaws  work  feebly  and  the  old,  pleased  light  come  into  his 
eyes. 

"  You'm  refugee  ? "  ventured  the  old  man,  with  a  keen  look. 
"  Dar's  no  need  ob  fear  ob  us.  Dey  come  long  hyur,  night  afer 
night,  fleein',  fleein'.  Seems 's  if  de  day  ob  de  Lord's  a  dawnin'.  But 
you  wos  gwine  de  wrong  way,  Missy;  you's  back  wur  to  de  Norf. 
We  seed  you  on  de  road." 

The  woman,  who  had  laid  Tom's  head  on. her  lap  and  covered 
him  for  his  sleep,  looked  up,  bewildered,  from  the  yam,  which  she 
was  eating  ravenously.  "  How  ken  I  tell  which  is  de  norf  or  which 
de  souf  ?  We's  been  trabellin',  trabellin',  Tom  an'  me,  for  many 
months,  here  and  there,  trough  de  mountains  and  cross  ob  de 
ribers,  widout  rest,  night  an'  day.  Once  we  wur  put  in  de  cala 
boose,  an'  twice  I  was  caught  an'  lashed  ;  but  we  got  off.  Seems  as 
ef  our  journey  never  ud  end.  Dar's  one  mountain  passed  and 
anudder  risin'  jest  beyond,  and  dar's  one  army  marchen  to-day,  an' 
anudder  approachin'  to-morrow,  an'  us  hidin'  an'  hidin',  an'  no  word 
comin'  of  dat  which  we  seek." 

"  Dat's  yer  freedom,  like  ?  "  he  hesitated. 

"  I'se   de   woman  of  an  hostler  of  Mass   Jeems   Sterbling."  she 


270  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

said,  "  an'  dis  is  his  boy.  We's  goin'  to  find  him,  an'  lib  togeder 
once  fore  we  die." 

"  Strebling's  place  is  in  Morgan  county,"  with  finger  on  his  chin. 
"  You'se  a  long  way  off,  Missy." 

"We's  bin  dar,  but  he'd  gone." 

"  Shore  as  you  lib,  woman,  he's  jined  a  gang  an'  gone  inter  a 
Yankee  camp.  Dat's  yer  course.  Dese  refugees  keep  a  count  ob 
each  oder.  Dar's  a  camp  ten  miles  farder  up  de  riber.  You  push 
on  t'  dat  pint  arly  in  de  mornin'.  Wur  a  gang  ob  refugees  went  on 
dar  yesterday.  Dey'le  have  news  ob  yer  man." 

"Ten  miles?" 

"  Straight  on  de  riber  track.     I  bet  you  you  find  yer  man  dar." 

"  Yer'd  best  lose  no  time,  Missy,"  said  the  boy,  "  dar's  de  word 
kum  to-night  dat  de  Yankee  troops  is  gwine  to  be  called  out  ob  dis 
part  ob  de  country  immediate,  an'  de  cullored  people's  makin'  ready 
to  foller  dem." 

"  Wher's  does  they  go  ?  "  with  a  bewildered  glance  over  the  great 
stretch  of  rnist-covered  mountains  and  valleys.  "  They's  off  planta 
tions,  like  me,  an'  knows  nothin'.  Wher's  does  they  stop  ?  " 

"  De  Lo'd  save  you,  woman,  dey  goes  Norf !  "  the  old  man  ejac 
ulated,  with  a  smothered  ya-ha  at  her  ignorance.  "  It's  ready  for 
dom,  dar.  Dar's  no  more  pickin'  cotton,  or  totin'  de  bar'ls.  It's  de 
day  ob  Jubilee.  Dey's  moughty  glad  to  see  dem,  dar,  wid  dere 
chains  knocked  off.  Now  you  go  to  sleep.  Ise'd  go  wid  you,  to 
morrow,  but  I  kent  leab  ole  Missus,  in  de  house  dar.  She's  alone." 

The  boy  stopped  at  the  head  of  the  ladder.  "  Ise'll  call  you  fore 
day.  Dem  troops  is  movin'  soon.  You'd  best  lose  no  time." 

"An  hour's  sleep — that's  'nuff."  She  sat  up  uneasily  looking 
after  them ;  half  rose  once  or  twice  to  pick  up  the  boy  and  go  on 
without  delay;  but  while  she  hesitated  she  slid  down  gradually  on 
the  straw  beside  him  and  slept  heavily,  till  dawn  was  breaking,  and 
the  boy  Pete  shook  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"  It's  time  you  wur  off,  Missy.  Is'e  brought  you  yer  broakset, 
an  hyur's  some  yams  in  dis  cloth ;  dey's  off  my  own  patch.  Does 
yer  hev  to  kerry  dat  young  un  ?  " 

Tom  had  scrambled  sturdily  to  his  feet,  but  the  blood  oozed  out 
on  the  straw,  and  he  sat  down,  gritting  his  teeth  with  pain.  "  Yer 
cant  do  it,  Mammy.  Ise'll  stay  hyur.  Yer  kin  come  back  for  me. 
I'se  don't  want  to  be  kerried  like  a  baby  when  we  find  him." 

Anny  laughed ;  her  nap  had  brought  back  her  hearty,  strong 
laugh  again.  "  It's  only  ten  miles  farder,  Tom.  What's  that  ?  " 
climbing  down  the  ladder,  and  taking  Tom  on  her  back. 

"  It's  a  long  stretch,  wid  dat  boy  for  weight,"  said  Pete,  "  an'  de 
road's  heaby.  You'd  best  leab  yer  bundle.  Ise'll  keep  it  safe." 

"  No,"  sharply,  thrusting  it  under  her  arm.  "  That's  important. 
Bid  Peter  good-by,  like  a  gentl'man,  Tom,"  standing  gravely  still 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  271 

while  Tom  touched  his  hat  over  her  shoulder,  winding  up  by  a  seiies 
of  boyish  nods,  and  winks,  and  chuckles,  to  pay  himself  for  the 
drill.  She  left  a  message  for  the  old  man,  with  a  slight  affectation 
of  matronly  dignity,  and  then  struck  down  into  the  road  which  was 
yet  gray  with  the  wet  fog.  Tom's  head  soon  dropped  on  her 
shoulder;  the  sleeping  little  body  was  a  dead  weight  -,  the  clay  be 
came  mire  that  clung  to  her  feet  and  pulled  her  back;  the  ten 
miles  lengthened  indefinitely.  The  negroes  in  the  fields  (for  she 
did  not  hesitate  to  stop  and  ask  direction  of  them)  placed  the 
Yankee  camp  now  fifteen,  now  twenty  miles  beyond,  first  on  one 
side  of  the  river,  then  on  the  other. 

As  day  dawned,  and  the  sun  came  out  hotly,  she  left  the  main 
road  and  pushed  her  way  slowly  through  the  underbrush  by  the 
river,  to  avoid  the  chance  white  passengers  that  she  would  meet, 
glancing  from  side  to  side  in  fear  of  the  moccasin  or  rattlesnakes 
which  came  out  to  bask  along  the  water  ledges,  and  stopping  now 
and  then  to  pick  out  the  ticks  that  left  their  poisoned  trails  across 
her  strained  feet.  Once  or  twice  she  looked  doubtfully  at  the 
bundle,  as  if  tempted  to  rid  herself  of  the  additional  weight,  every 
ounce  of  which  told  now  on  her  failing  strength ;  but  she  slung  it 
to  the  other  side,  and  struggled  on. 

"  You  won't  give  dat  up,  Mammy  ?  No  ?  "  said  Tom,  eagerly, 
for  he  was  awake  and  watching,  as  usual,  her  every  look  and  turn. 

"  No,  Tom.  I'se  don't  want  the  father  to  think  we'se  filthy  an' 
no  account  when  we  finds  him.  It's  bin  three  years  I'se  saved  the 
money  fur  them  clo's,  an'  we'll  put  'em  on  when  we'se  nigh  camp. 
It'll  not  be  long  now,  please  God,"  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
to  scan  the  sun-lighted  heights  beyond  the  river,  the  breath  coming 
slowly  through  her  weighted  lungs. 

"  Tell  me  a  story,"  said  Tom.  "  Tell  me  whar  we'll  go  when  we 
find  him." 

She  laughed,  and  took  a  quicker  step  or  two,  shifting  him  lightly 
on  her  shoulder.  "  Now  you've  heerd  that  a  hunderd  times, 
Tom." 

"Goon." 

She  went  on,  well  pleased.  "  Well,  Tom,  yer  father  he'll  get  a 
house,  I  don't  know  where.  But  it'll  be  ours — his  an'  mine,"  her 
mouth  shutting  firmly. 

"  Whar'll  you  get  the  money  to  pay  for  it  ?     Heh,  Mammy  !  " 

"  They  pay  ther*  for  work.  I  want  you  to  take  account  of  this 
hyur,  I  tell  you,  Tom.  I  want  you,  if  you're  took  back  into  slavery, 
to  learn  it  by  heart.  It'll  keep  you  from  bein'  a  lazy  nigger  as  it 
hes  me.  The  money  that's  bought  them  plantations  and  furnished 
them  houses  was  made  out  of  our  sweat  an'  blood.  We  bought 
them ;  we  paid  for  them.  Ther's  them  among  our  people  as  say  if 
ever  they're  free  they'll  claim  one-third  the  crops  as  pay ;  an'  it 


272  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

would  be  but  fair.  If  yer  father  an'  me,  an'  them  like  us,  hed  been 
paid  for  our  labor,  we'd  not  have  been  the  offscouring  of  the  nation 
to-day,  with  scars  on  our  backs  in  place  of  the  wages  that's  bin 
our  due."  Her  voice  grew  shrill  at  the  last  word. 

The  boy  listened  gravely.  The  lesson,  apparently,  was  not  a  new 
one,  but  the  plans  for  the  future  were  pleasanter.  "  Go  on,  Mammy. 
What'll  you  put  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Money's  easy  made  ther',  they  say,  by  them  that  chooses  to 
work,  an'  Ave'll  buy  things  like  the  white  folks.  You  kin  help 
choose  them,  Tom.  Yer  father's  ready  at  whatever  he  sets  his 
lingers  to,  in  the  stable  or  blacksmith  shop,"  she  continued,  slowly, 
"  and  I  could  earn  as  much,  likely,  shirt-making,  or  at  doin'  up 
clo's,  if  th'  other  give  out.  Them's  bin  my  plans.  They  seem 
shore  to  me." 

"  What  am  I  to  be,  heh,  Mammy  ?  " 

She  stopped  short  in  the  road,  putting  him  from  her  back  into 
her  arms,  drawing  her  breath  short  as  she  looked  into  his  face, 
rubbing  her  hands  over  his  puny  legs  and  arms. 

"You?     Toufn 

All  the  hope,  the  hunger,  the  ambition  which  the  mother  had 
concentrated  during  years  of  slavery  in  the  poor  little  manikin, 
looked  out  of  her  face  at  that  minute. 

"  Ther's  nothin'  you  can't  be  !     Nothing  !  " 

The  peculiar,  attentive,  grave  look  with  which  he  had  listened  to 
her  a  few  moments  before  came  into  his  eyes,  but  he  said  nothing. 
She  put  him  down  on  a  rock  close  by,  and  stood  beside  it,  her  jaws 
working  nervously.  "  P'raps  you've  heerd,  as  I  hev,  that  Mist 
Flory  values  you  among  her  stock  at  on'y  fifty  dollars."  She 
stroked  his  low,  protruding  forehead,  stooped  and  laid  her  cheek  to 
it.  She  did  not  know  how  to  be  tender  enough  to  him.  "  Sonny 
boy,  yer  mother  knows  what's  hyur,  and  hyur,"  touching  his  head 
and  breast.  "  She  knows  what  yer  worth ;  she's  thought  it  over 
night  an'  day  these  many  years.  Ther's  nothin'  any  man  kin  do 
that  God  hes  barred  you  out  from.  Nothin'.  Ef  the  white  men 
would  open  the  doors  for  ye — if  they'd  on'y  open  the  doors  jes  a 
little  way !  "  He  looked  down  into  the  muddy  ground.  Neither 
spoke  for  some  minutes. 

They  were  down  in  a  hollow  between  the  road  and  river,  hidden 
from  both  by  the  tangled  masses  of  undergrowth  and  scarlet  cactus. 
Tom  held  up  his  hand  warningly  as  a  horse's  heavy  trot  came  thud 
ding  up  the  road  through  the  clay.  She  pulled  the  branches  aside 
to  reconnoitre,  then  drew  her  skirt  from  Tom's  hold.  "  Stay  hyur," 
she  cried,  breathless ;  "  it's  Jake  from  the  Streblin'  place !  He'll 
tell  me  wher'  to  find  him,"  and  throwing  down  the  bundle,  she 
climbed  the  rocks  up  to  the  level  of  the  road. 

It  was  long  before  she  came  back,  and  then  she  walked  slowly, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  273 

the  skin  of  her  face  and  throat,  under  its  gay  cotton  kerchief,  gray 
ish  red,  as  a  mulatto's  becomes  under  excitement. 

The  boy  got  up.     "  You've  heerd  of  him  ?  " 

She  nodded,  but  did  not  speak  for  a  minute  or  two.  "  I  got  word 
from  him ;  from  Nathan,  to  you  an'  me.  It's  four  years  since  I 
heerd  from  Nathan,  Tom — yer  father." 

The  child  took  up  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his  two  thin  ones. 

"  We're  to  jine  him,"  after  a  pause,  "  in  a  camp  up  the  river.  It's 
three  days'  journey  from  hyur,  but  what's  that  ?  what's  that  ? 
He'll  wait  for  us — I'm  shore  to  see  him  !  "  She  had  begun  to  pin 
up  her  skirt,  preparing  to  start ;  but  she  dropped  down  suddenly, 
throwing  her  arms  across  her  head,  her  sturdy  frame  shaken  with 
tearless  sobs. 

He  pulled  at  her  vainly.    "  You  never  gibed  up  like  this,  Mammy." 

She  stood  up  after  a  long  time.  "  I  never  was  shore  of  seein' 
him  before.  I'm  stronger  for  a  bit  of  a  cry.  Wimmen's  wimmen. 
Come  on,  boy,"  sitting  down  for  him  to  mount  on  her  back,  joking 
and  laughing  as  they  turned  back  to  the  point  from  which  they  had 
come,  and  began  their  vague  journey. 

"  I've  a  chance  of  a  lift  on  the  way,"  she  said,  presently.  "  If  I 
kin  make  the  pint  of  a  mill  dat's  beyond  hyur  by  nightfall,  Jake 
'11  take  us  aboard  a  scow  he's  gwine  down  with,  loaden  with  corn. 
It's  slow  travellin',  but  as  fast  as  I  kin  walk  now-a-days." 

"Yer  nigh  worn  out,  Mammy,"  tightening  his  arms  about  her 
neck.  At  which  she  only  laughed,  and  let  her  rough,  hearty  voice 
loose  in  a  resounding  Methodist  hymn. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AFTER      THE      BATTLE. 

EITHER  Jake  was,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  before  his  time,  or 
they  failed  to  reach  the  mill  by  nightfall,  for  they  saw  nothing  of 
him,  and,  after  waiting  for  a  couple  of  hours,  pushed  on,  on  foot. 
During  the  two  days  that  followed  Anny  gave  herself  no  time  for 
sleep  or  rest.  An  hour's  delay  might  cost  all  that  she  had  waited 
for,  for  years,  just  when  her  hand  was  on  the  goal.  She  never  lost 
heart,  or  was  too  tired  to  hum  or  whistle  a  tune  for  Tom,  being  "  so 
shor<3  ob  findin'  him  waitin'  just  yander."  A  woman  will  make  as 
long  and  patient  a  tug  in  life  as  a  camel,  if  you  only  give  her  a 
kind  word  now  and  again,  and  show  her  a  bit  of  green  and  comfort 
at  the  end. 

At  the  close  of  the  second  day  they  were  still  distant  about 

fifteen  miles  from  the  Federal  camp ;  the  course  of  the  river,  which 

they  were  compelled  to  follow,  was   circuitous,  and  delaved  them. 

As  the  sun  began  to  dip  in  the  yellow  flood  of  light  in  the  west,  a 

18 


274  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

curdling  ripple  was  heard  in  the  broad  current  behind  them,  and 
Jake  and  his  scow  floated  into  sight,  with  a  loud  halloo.  He  pushed 
it  up  to  the  bank. 

"  Whar  you  bin  rarapin'  about,  woman  ?  Git  in  hyur.  Dat's  all 
right.  Mass  Jeems  ready  t'  help  off  cle  contrabands ;  he  done  gone 
1'yal  since  de  blue  coats  corned  around ;  reckon  he's  turned  ab'lish- 
inist  bym  time  he  sell  dis  corn  to  dem.  Kiver  up,  dar,  I  say ;  keep 
yer  head  down,  you  little  nig,  you!"  He  made  them  lie  down, 
covering  them  with  the  sacks  of  meal  and  fodder  with  an  anxiety 
that  argued  badly  for  his  master's  approval  of  the  proceeding,  and 
then  thrust  out  again  into  the  current.  During  that  night  and  the 
next  morning,  Anny  lay,  rocked  by  the  rippling  water,  looking  out 
of  her  cranny  between  the  sacks  at  the  shifting  orchards,  brakes 
and  woods,  dyed  with  hot  Autumn  tints,  which  lined  the  shore. 
There  was  not  much  appreciation  of  nature  in  her  canny  face  and 
keen  eyes.  She  was  a  shrewd  woman,  and  gifted  with  just  that 
bigoted,  acrid  affection  for  whatever  in  life  had  adhered  to  herself, 
husband,  child,  or  sect,  which  made  white  women  such  bitter,  illib 
eral  partisans  during  the  civil  war.  But  the  poor  mulatto's  experi 
ence  of  politics  and  country  was  bounded  by  the  Fairview  sugar 
plantation ;  the  Fairviews  and  their  slaves  were  the  sole  subjects 
of  her  shrewdness  or  observation ;  she  saw  that  the  people  in  the 
quarters  were  to  their  master,  under  all  his  lax  kindness,  sheer 
property — "  paying  field  hands,"  "  likely  breeders  ; "  any  kind  of 
intelligence,  skill,  beauty,  among  them  had  its  specific  value  in 
dirty  bank  notes ;  she  knew  them  (being  a  sort  of  nurse  or  handy 
woman)  in  their  wedding-days,  in  spasms  of  religious  excitement, 
in  the  pains  of  child-birth  or  death;  times  when  Nature  drags  the 
eoul,  as  God  made  it,  to  the  light,  out  of  a  white  or  black  body ; 
she  had  time  to  brood  morbidly  over  the  difference  of  her  judg 
ment  of  them  and  that  of  her  master.  So  it  came  that  she  talked 
secretly,  from  cabin  to  cabin,  with  a  feverish  exaggeration  of  "  her 
people  "  as  a  nation  especially  blessed  by  God  because  wronged  by 
men.  She  had,  naturally  enough,  that  inflated  idea  of  their  im 
portance  common  to  children  or  nations  held  too  long  in  tutelage. 
She  had,  like  all  her  people,  a  secret  sense  of  the  terrible  wrong 
done  her,  for  which  freedom  would  be  no  redress,  and  for  which  no 
money  could  pay ;  in  the  North,  among  the  people  who  had  given 
their  lives  to  free  her,  they  would  surely  be  welcomed  with  out- 
Btretched  hands ;  they  would  be  given  at  least  the  chance  to  ir.ake 
the  best  of  what  natural  power  slavery  had  left  to  themselves  and 
their  boy. 

But  they  were  going  North,  together,  with  their  child.  In  spite  of 
Anny's  harangues  on  political  economy,  she  was  but  a  silly  woman. 
During  the  long  hours  when  they  drifted  down  stream,  lulled  by 
the  slow,  rocking  motion,  she  kept  muttering  Nathan's  name  over  to 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  975 

herself,  hugging  Tom's  hands  to  Jier  mouth  and  throat.  BeLig  a 
woman,  too,  it  was  less  of  her  people's  destiny  that  she  thought  than 
of  the  house  of  which  Tom  had  heard  a  hundred  times.  Tom  was  not 
so  curious  or  childish  about  it  as  she ;  she  knew  the  dimensions  of  the 
little  parlor  and  bedroom  and  kitchen,  as  if  she  had  seen  them  with 
her  eyes ;  she  had  planned  the  pattern  of  the  rag-carpet  she  would 
make,  and  the  shelves  which  Nathan  would  put  up  for  Tom's  books. 
Eor  Tom  would  go  to  school,  and  at  night  he  could  teach  her  and 
his  father  to  read. 

It  was  near  noon  on  the  next  day  when  Jake  pulled  the  scow  up 
to  shore  into  a  jungle  of  trailing  vines,  purple  and  orange,  with  flat, 
broad-leaved  flowers.  "  Time  fur  ye  to  bundle  out,  you  two.  I 
kent  git  no  nearer  de  Yankee  camp  wid  dis  scow  ;  ye'll  hev  to  foot 
it.  It's  nuffin  but  a  strip,  nohow,"  standing  in  the  water  to  push 
the  boat  .out  after  they  had  landed. 

"  What  way  shall  we  trabble  now  ?  "  demanded  Tom,  affecting  an 
air  of  mannish  boldness,  seeing  that  his  mother  stood  stupid  and  dazed. 

"  'Taint  no  trabblin' ;  it's  jest  a  walk  to  the  pint  of  yander  wood. 
Turn  dat  rock  dar,  an'  ye'll  see  de  tents.  Nat's  dar,  I  reckon," 
glancing  at  Anny,  and  then,  stre'ching  himself  on  his  back  on  the 
hot  deck,  he  drifted  out  into  the  stream,  whistling  "  Zip  Coon." 

Tom  pulled  his  mother's  sleeve.  "  Jake  says  he's  ther',  Mammy. 
It's  only  a  few  minutes  now." 

She  nodded  once  or  twice,  moving  her  lips  and  holding  her  shut 
hand  to  her  chest  as  if  some  pain  had  wrung  her  breath  away ; 
then  she  took  him  by  the  hand  and,  still  silent,  began  to  walk 
hurriedly  up  the  hill.  But  the  boy,  who  was  shaking,  ready  to 
shriek  and  cry  with  excitement,  pulled  back  vigorously.  "  You 
forgot  the  clo's,  Mammy.  He'll  think  we'se  poor  nigger  trash  when 
we'se  find  him.  I  want  him  to  know,  fust  look  at  me,  '  dat's  my  son.' 
I  want  my  new  clo's  on." 

She  laughed  a  loud,  hoarse  laugh ;  but  it  seemed  to  bring  her  to 
herself.  Her  cheeks  grew  hot,  her  eyes  sparkled.  She  untied  the 
bundle  of  clothes  eagerly,  washed  the  boy  in  the  warm,  plashing 
water,  and,  sheltered  by  the  shadows  of  the  overhanging  trees, 
dressed  him  in  a  suit  of  coarse,  dark  blue  flannel,  made  in  a  loose 
sailor  fashion,  which  concealed  the  thin  body,  with  a  rolling  collar, 
that  left  the  throat  bare  and  set  off  the  well-poised,  earnest  little 
head  and  olive-tinged  face.  She  had  the  quick  eye  of  her  race  for 
color.  She  tied  a  black  ribbon  at  his  throat,  rumpled  up  the  wet, 
waving,  black  hair,  her  face  flushing  red  with  pride. 

"  You've  got  a  white  boy's  featur's,  and  the  sorrowful  eyes  of  yer 
people,"  she  said,  kneeling  to  tie  his  shoes.  "  Now  you  wait  for 
me,  Tom,"  with  a  girlish  laugh,  pitiful  enough  in  so  old  a  woman. 
"  Yer  father  hasn't  seen  me  for  years,  an'  he  used  to  think  nobody 
was  so  peart  an'  purty  as  Anny." 


276  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

She  was  long  in  coming  back ;  her  hands  were  unsteady  and  slow 
in  obeying  her  will ;  she  had  the  feeling  of  a  bride  making  ready 
to  meet  her  husband,  deepened  and  made  intense  by  the  pain  of 
those  miserable  long  years.  Torn  was  watching  anxiously  for  her, 
and  when  she  came  ran  up,  and  stroked  down  her  blue  print  dress 
and  the  spreading  white  apron,  but,  boy-like,  he  made  no  comment 
on  her  looks.  She  watched  him,  askance,  as  she  tied  a  white  hand 
kerchief  about  her  head.  "Would  you" — she  hesitated,  "now 
would  you  call  me  an  old  woman,  Tom  ?  " 

Tom  inspected  her  critically.  "  I  don'  no  ;  yer  jest  Mammy  to 
me ;  I  reckon  you'll  be  that  to  him,  too ;  it  don't  matter  about  the 
old." 

She  laughed  a  soft,  low  laugh,  now.     "  Come,  we'll  go  now." 

The  noon-light  glared  white  into  the  dusty  road  and  flashing 
river  below ;  the  shadows  of  the  far-off  mountains  drowsed  into  a 
dusty,  purple  line ;  the  bee's  drone  died  as  they  approached ;  the 
gossamer  webs  lay  untouched  on  the  grass  since  the  night  before; 
over  the  bend  in  the  hills,  where  the  negro  had  said  the  camp  lay,  a 
flock  of  birds  were  wheeling  in  low  concentric  flight.  There  was 
a  curious  look  of  unmolested  solitude  in  the  mountains  and  lonely 
road,  but  the  woman,  with  her  face  bent  to  the  ground,  and  the 
sound  of  her  own  heart  beating  against  her  strong  chest,  dulling 
her  ears,  saw  nothing. 

Tom's  hand  twitched  nervously  in  hers.  "It's  only  a  few  min 
utes  now,  Mammy.  Sing  so  dey  hear  us  comin'." 

"  I  kent  do  that." 

He  glanced  up  at  her  and  was  silent ;  did  not  wince,  even,  when, 
as  they  neared  the  rock  behind  which  lay  the  camp,  her  fingers 
crushed  his  hand  in  their  grasp,  the  nails  going  into  the  flesh.  They 
gained  the  rock,  passed  it. 

Beyond  lay  an  open  field ;  in  the  hot  sunlight,  the  grass  trodden 
and  torn  up  in  ruts  and  holes,  heaps  of  straw,  of  charred  wood, 
broken  bits  of  mouldy  bread,  battered  canteens,  coffee-grounds 
scattered  over  it ;  under  a  reddening  gum-tree  two  half-naked  black 
boys  lolled. 

"  Is  der  no  camp  ?     Is  he  gone,  Mammy,"  asked  Tom,  shrilly. 

Anny  made  no  answer ;  crossed  the  field  to  the  boys.  "  Whar's 
de  regiments  dat  was  hyur  ?  " 

"  Dunno ;  'spec  dey's  in  de  big  fight  yander ;  dey  moved  day 
'fore  yesterday." 

The  burned  grass  under  foot,  the  blue,  glazed  arch  of  sky  grew 
indistinct  before  Tom's  dizzy  eyes ;  he  leaned  his  head  against  his 
mother's  hip ;  her  voice  sounded  loud  and  coarse  as  a  man's. 

"Whar's  de  fight?" 

"Byinluka."    , 

"  Wur  thar  any  cullored  men  'long  ob  dem  regiments  ?" 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  277 

One  of  the  boys  ventured  a  guess  that  there  were  fifty  mule- 
drivers  ;  the  other  brought  it  down  to  ten.  "  Any  ways,  I  seed  a 
lot  of  or'nary  niggers  'round,  ration  time." 

"  luka  ?  "  She  looked  down  to  the  far  purple  horizon  line  that 
seemed  to  vanish  and  reappear  in  the  mist  of  heated  air ;  the  sultry 
glare,  the  noonday  silence  around,  added  to  the  dull,  dead  blank 
that  yawned  in  her  brain,  instead  of  the  delicious  thrill  and  fever 
of  a  moment  ago.  A  countryman,  who  was  picking  up  firewood 
over  the  field,  came  up,  and  looked  gravely  at  her. 

"If  you  want  to  go  to  the  battle-field,  young  woman,"  he  said, 
compassionately,  "  I  don't  keer  if  you  ride  in  my  cart ;  I'm  goin' 
right  along;  though  ye'll  find  none  there  but  the  dead;  Rosecrans 
is  follerin'  the  gray-coats  since  midnight ;  they've  gone  to  Bay 
Springs.  You  can  ride  if  you  like.  Maybe  your  man's  dead  ;  you 
can  search  for  him,"  in  the  same  sober,  unmoved  tone. 

"  He's  not  dead.  Yes,  I'll  ride,  thank  you,  suh.  Hyur's  de  cart, 
Tom.  He's  not  dead,"  looking  fiercely  in  the  boy's  face,  as  she 
lifted  him  in. 

She  did  not  open  her  lips  again  while  the  cart  jolted  along  over 
the  rough  road  during  the  intenser  heat  of  the  afternoon,  until 
evening  began  to  gather,  and  an  earth-colored,  sultry  cloud  sank 
down  heavily,  flattening  the  sky  into  a  plane  over  head,  and  bring 
ing  the  distant  hills  and  hamlets  into  sharp  photographic  relief. 

"  Like  to  have  a  thunder-shower  'fore  midnight,"  remarked  their 
guide,  under  his  breath. 

Anny  put  her  bent  hand  behind  her  ear,  her  eyes  scanning  the 
silent  cane-fields  and  muddy  creek  with  something  of  the  baited 
keenness  of  a  thirsty,  exhausted  hound. 

"  Yer  listenin'  for  the  guns  ?  Battle  was  over  last  night.  Price 
moved  off  shortly  after  dark  come  on,  and  Rosecrans  is  on  his  track. 
Them  ruts  is  whar  th'  artillery  passed,"  pointing  to  the  gashed, 
muddy  fields  on  either  side.  "  They  went  into  the  fight  in  the  mid 
dle  of  a  drenchin'  rain  yesterday  mornin'." 

The  horse  had  pulled  the  cart  slowly  up  the  slippery  road,  and, 
reaching  the  brow  of  the  hill,  they  looked  down  into  a  wide,  oblong 
plain,  ridged  with  dark  spurs  of  the  mountains  that  lay  in  a  sullen 
bulwark  across  the  northern  horizon.  Fitful  gusts  of  wet  fog  were 
driven  over  it  through  the  twilight ;  the  wooded  ravines  and  clumps 
of  underbrush  began  to  lose  their  identity,  and  faded  into  forlorn 
patches  of  shadow  on  the  dreary  flat  below.  Here  and  there  a  pil 
lar  of  gray  smoke  wavered  up  from  the  forests,  smouldering  after 
the  shells  of  the  night  before.  They  got  out  of  the  cart,  and  went 
down  into  the  valley,  through  the  clogging  clay  of  the  road,  the 
driver  leading  the  horse,  a  fine,  cold  mist  driving  in  their  faces. 

"  It  was  through  that  gap,"  pointing  with  his  whip,  "  that  the 
blue-coats  come  in ;  they  was  crowded  in  that  nick  between  two 


278  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

hills,  shet  in  by  hickory  woods,  when  the  shells  began  to  spit  fire 
at  them,  and  there  lay  Price's  army  before  them,  like  a  black, 
one n din'  sea."  The  man  stopped  as  the  cart  sunk  into  a  rut,  lean 
ing  his  elbows  on  the  wheel,  and  looking  leisurely  down  at  the 
silent  stretch  of  land  beneath  him  and  at  the  storm-clouds  hurrying 
up  over  it  from  below  the  horizon,  like  mutes  to  a  funeral. 

"  That  was  a  sight  to  see  !  "  in  the  same  monotonous  tone,  "  the 
smoke  and  rain  makin'  it  night  overhead,  and  the  flames  belchin' 
through,  and  the  Yankees  givin'  yell  after  yell,  as  they  was  mowed 
down.  You  can't  see  from  here,  but  them  fields  and  woods  is  filled 
with  dead  men,  starin'  upward." 

"Wur  de  black  men  in  de  battle?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  They  were'nt  allowed  guns ;  but  there  was  none  of  them  empty- 
handed  when  that  work  was  goin'  on."  He  pulled  the  horse  hastily 
by  the  bridle  and  walked  on  a  few  steps,  then  turned  to  Anny. 
"  You  don't  see  that  I  am  one  of  your  sort? " 

She  shook  her  head,  indifferently. 

"  I'm  a  slave,  off  of  Harkin's  land ;  I'm  the  son  of  Colonel  Burr, 
in  Car'lina;  he  sold  me  last  Spring;  I've  not  ten  drops  of  black 
blood  in  me;  I  can  read  better'n  my  master;  I  know  what  that 
there  bloody  ground  and  them  dead  bodies  mean ;  they  mean  that 
the  day's  clarin'  for  us ;  ther's  not  one  of  them  dead  men,  white  or 
black,  that  didn't  write  your  freedom  and  mine  with  his  blood  on 
the  ground — whether  he  fought  for  it  or  not." 

"  Nathan's  not  dead,"  said  Anny,  loosening  the  collar  that  bound 
her  like  an  iron  band  about  the  neck.  Whether  her  people  were 
free  or  not  seemed  a  far-off,  paltry  matter  to  her.  She  scarcely 
heard  her  companion  singing  "John  Brown's  body,"  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  as  they  went  down  the  hill. 

There  was  a  little  hut  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  which  a  woman 
was  stirring  a  pot  that  hung  over  a  blazing  fire.  It  looked  cheerful 
and  homelike.  Anny  came  into  the  open  door  and  placed  the  boy 
beside  her.  Then,  without  a  word  or  look  for  him,  she  went  out, 
clasping  her  hands  behind  her,  and  struck  through  the  thickest  of 
sassafras  bushes  to  where  the  moving  light  of  some  torches  showed 
that  they  were  burying  the  dead. 

All  night  she  searched  for  him. 

The  men,  left  to  gather  the  dead,  yet  unburied,  through  the  miles 
of  forest  and  cornfield  over  which  the  battle  had  raged,  were  very 
kind  to  her ;  took  her  with  them  from  gully  to  gully,  for  it  was  to 
these  by-places  that  the  wounded  men  oftenest  had  dragged  them 
selves,  and  lay  now  stark  and  contorted  with  strange  variety  of 
suffering.  When  she  helped  turn  them  over,  and  their  half-open 
eyes  met  hers,  the  words  of  the  cart-driver  began  to  take  meaning 
to  her.  Was  this  price  paid  to  give  her  and  her  boy  their  chance  ? 

Through  the  gullies,  climbing   the  sharp  cliffs,  wading  in  the 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  279 

creek  to  drag  out  a  body  that  swayed  up  and  down,  half  under 
water,  the  cold,  sleety  rain  blinding  her  until  the  long  night  had 
waned  and  morning  dawned.  She  came  then  into  the  hut  where 
she  had  left  Tom,  with  her  usual  resolute,  cheerful  smile  and  hearty 
voice. 

"  I've  seen  them  all,"  she  whispered  to  him,  kneeling  down  before 
him  and  hugging  his  hands  to  her  breast.  "  He's  not  among  them, 
Tom.  There  was  no  black  men  buried  before  I  came."  Then  she 
put  her  head  down  on  his  little  knees,  and  was  quiet  for  a  while. 

The  woman  who  owned  the  hut  came  in,  and  Anny  got  up  and 
gravely  thanked  her  for  the  boy's  shelter. 

"  You  might  have  thought  me  a  drunken  woman  last  night,  but 
I  was  in  great  trouble." 

"  I  seen  that,"  she  said,  kindly.  "  He  wurn't  in  the  way.  He's 
a  cunnin'  little  chap — Did  you  hev  news  of  his  father  ?  " 

"Not  jest  direct  word,"  confidently;  "but  the  white  gentl'inen 
yander  advise  me  to  foller  the  army  out  on  the  Fulton  road.     I'll 
be  sure  to  find  him  ther'." 
"  Are  you  goin'  on  foot  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Missus,  on  foot." 

The  woman  heaped  a  plate  with  smoking  rice,  and  pouring  some 
molasses  over  it,  gave  it  to  her. 

"I  can't  eat,  Missus,"  putting  it  before  the  boy. 
"  You've  waited  a  long  time  to  see  yer  man  ?     Some  weeks,  I 
reckon  ?  " 

"  Longer  than  that,"  with  a  pathetic  smile  on  her  homely  face. 
"  But  the  day's  clarin' !  We'll  soon  be  at  home  all  togedder,"  lay 
ing  her  hand  quietly  on  the  boy's  knee,  while  her  eyes  shone  as  they 
looked  out  over  the  valley  brightening  under  the  dewy  dawn. 

Three  days  after  this,  Anny  led  Tom  by  the  hand  up  the  street 
of  the  little  town  of  Jacinto  to  a  straggling  wooden  building  used 
as  a  hospital.  "  You  keep  up  heart,  Tom,"  she  said.  "  We^re  shore 
to  find  him  now."  But  her  face  had  grown  haggard  and  sharp  since 
that  night  on  the  battle-field.  They  were  jostled  off  the  pavement 
at  every  step  by  groups  of  soldiers  passing  up  and  down;  but  she 
pushed  her  way  patiently,  until,  going  through  the  gate,  they  found 
themselves  in  a  little  box  of  an  ofiice  where  a  red-headed,  wide 
awake  young  man  sat  writing. 

"  Well,  my  good  woman,  your  business  ?" 

"  I  was  inquirin',  suh,  for  a  cullored  man  named  Nathan,  thinkin' 
he  might  be  in  the  hospital." 

"  No  such  person  employed  here,  eh,  Captain  Sands  ?  " 
The  Captain,  a  bloodless,  flat-chested  young  man  reading  a  news 
paper,  shook  his  head. 

Anny's  lips  fell  .ipart,  colorless.  "  P'raps  he's  among  the  wounded, 
Bull '? "- 


280  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  clerk  looked  up  impatiently.  "No,  he's  not.  Is  he  your 
husband  ?  " 

She  paused  a  moment,  patting  Tom's  head.  "He's  my  boy's 
father,  suh." 

Captain  Sands  threw  down  his  paper,  his  round,  lightish  eyes 
kindling  with  disgust.  "Is  there  no  shame  or  decency  left  among 
this  people  ?  I  believe  that  virtue  is  a  thing  unknown  to  an  African 
woman  !  It  is  deplorable  in  a  country  professing  Christ,  to  find 
such  a  condition  of  affairs  as  I  meet  here,  James." 

Anny  drew  back,  step  by  step,  her  hand  held  up.  "Suh — suh !  " 
she  cried,  "  not  before  my  Tom  !  He's  my  son.  He  loves  me." 

"  You  should  be  ashamed  to  claim  him,"  with  a  severe  frown. 
"  I  hold  that  this  is  one  of  the  insuperable  obstacles  to  the  re 
demption  of  the  negro  race,  James.  It  is  hopeless — hopeless." 

The  woman  looked  at  him,  bewildered,  trying  to  read  his  mean 
ing  ;  she  slowly  recovered  her  grave  self-possession. 

"  Suh,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  you's  a  young  man,  and  yer  life's  bin 
easy.  Dat  Lord  Jesus,  as  you  spoke  of,  he  wud  hev  seen  ther'  was 
somethin'  to  say  on  our  side."  She  took  Tom  by  the  hand,  and 
turned  to  go  out. 

"  Shan't  we  find  him  hyur,  Mammy  ?  "  cried  the  boy. 

Her  mouth  moved  feebly,  but  made  no  sound.  At  the  door  a 
big,  uncouth  old  man  ran  against  them. 

"  Who's  this  ?  "  stopping  short,  and  scanning  them  keenly. 

"  She's  in  search  of  a  colored  man ;  her — her  husband,"  said  the 
clerk,  with  eager  kindness. 

"  Name  of  Nathan  ?  " 

Anny  stopped,  staggering  against  the  wall.  She  held  out  her 
hands  toward  Burley.  The  dark  blood  settled  about  her  nostrils 
and  in  the  wrinkles  of  her  homely  face.  "  Is  he  dead  ?  "  she  said. 
But  Joe  did  not  hear  her. 

"Hev  you  bin  searchin'  for  him  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Tom's  shrill,  fierce  little  voice  piped  out  for  his  mother.  "  She's 
bin  widout  him  these  five  years,  Marster.  She's  nigh  done  gone 
in  de  search.  Look  dar,"  lifting  up  her  limp  fingers  and  letting 
them  fall.  "  It's  months  since  she's  slep'  in  a  bed.  Dar's  nothin' 
crossed  her  lips  to  eat  since  yesterday." 

"  My  God  !  "  said  Captain  Sands,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Is  lie  dead  ?  "  she  cried,  shrilly. 

"  Dead  ?  No,  God  bless  you.  He's  alive  and  well,  Nathan  is," 
stammered  Joe.  "  He's  not  just  here,  but — there,  woman,  there ! 
You'll  see  him — Tut!  tut!  Poor  devil!"  as  her  head  dropped  on 
her  breast,  and  she  sank  in  a  heavy  lump  to  the  floor. 

"I  have  some  brandy — it's  from  weakness,  starvation!"  said 
Captain  Sands,  clearing  the  steps  with  a  jump  in  his  haste  to  reach 
the  house. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  281 

"  I'd  best  call  a  woman,"  said  James,  gravely,  as  he  helped  Joe 
lay  her  head  straight.  "  Don't  cry,  my  little  man ;  your  mother's 
only  tired.  There's  a  spare  bed  in  the  hospital,  no  doubt,"  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  and  we  can  smuggle  her  in." 

But  before  they  could  take  her  into  the  house  her  eyes  were  open 
again,  questioning  Joe's  face.  He  shuffled  uneasily  under  them. 
"  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  blurted  out.  "  Nat  was  wounded,  for 
he  fought  like  a  tiger.  One  don't  jest  examine  the  color  of  a  man's 
skin  in  the  thick  of  a  fight  to  see  if  he's  the  right  to  kerry  arms. 
It  warn't  but  a  broken  bone  or  two.  But  Leftenant  Markle  he  hed 
a  cut  across  the  shoulder,  here,  and  he  got  Nat  sent  with  him,  as 
body  servant,  knowin'  the  fellar  wouldn't  be  keered  for  here.  An' 
they  left  yesterday.  I  don't  rightly  know  wher'  they're  sent,"  in 
answer  to  her  look,  "  but  it's  to  some  hospital  in  Tennessee." 

"  Can  we  go  ?  "  trying  to  sit  upright. 

"  No." 

The  men  exchanged  perplexed  glances  after  their  prompt  decision. 
The  sudden  pallor  on  the  worn,  ugly  face,  full  of  tenderness  and 
patience,  the  signs  of  age  in  the  gray  hairs  and  scarred  lines,  had 
touched  them  as  no  youth  nor  beauty  would  have  done.  The  nurse 
from  the  hospital,  a  fresh-skinned,  Quaker  woman,  looked  quickly 
from  one  to  the  other. 

"  May  I  tell  thee  what  to  do,  friend,"  she  said.  "  I  need  help 
indoors  there  with  the  ironing,  and  sometimes  in  the  wards.  Thee 
shall  get  thy  strength  first,  and  then  thee  will  do  what  thee  can  for 
me.  Thee  has  willing  hands,  I  am  sure.  Meanwhile,  Friend  Bur- 
ley  will  doubtless  communicate  with  Lieutenant  Markle,  and  advise 
thee  of  the  course  thy  husband  has  taken.  As  soon  as  he  hears, 
thee  shall  join  him." 

"  A  good  plan  !  an  excellent  plan  !  "  exclaimed  Sands.  "  I  doubt 
not  I  can  discover  Markle's  whereabouts  myself." 

"  You  might  as  well  sarch  for  a  grasshopper  in  a  harvest-field," 
growled  Joe  aside.  "  He  went  up  in  a  general  jail  delivery  of 
wounded.  Howsever,  it's  the  best  chance  for  the  woman  to  do  as 
Friend  Sarah  perposes." 

Meanwhile,  Anny  got  up,  holding  Tom  close,  smiling  with  the 
tears  on  her  yellow  cheeks.  The  Quaker's  words  were  a  better 
cordial  than  the  Captain's  brandy.  "  Yer  all  very  kind  gentl'men," 
courtesying  humbly.  "  I'll  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  in  de  house, 
Missus.  I'se  counted,  usual,  a  perty  fair  ironer,"  and  went  out 
without  another  word. 

But  that  night,  kneeling  by  Tom's  little  cot  in  the  clean  garret, 
she  sobbed  and  laughed  like  the  silliest  of  women.  "I  knowed 
we'd  see  him  soon !  God's  good.  I  knowed  it  would  be  soon. 
An'  on  the  first  of  de  year  they  say  freedom  comes — freedom  for  him 
and  you,  Tom,  an' for  all  our  people.  De  Lord  God  lies  seen  at  last 


282  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

what  de  yoke  was  dat  laid  on  us,  an'  He  lies  took  it  off  foreber  !  " 
She  let  her  head  rest  on  the  edge  of  the  pallet.  When  she  raised 
it,  the  boy  was  sitting  up,  with  the  strange,  grave  look  of  inquiry 
on  his  face.  There  was  something  in  it  she  could  not  understand. 

"  What  is  it,  Tom  ?  " 

He  turned  from  her  evasively.  "  I  was  thinkin'  of  dal  chance 
comin'  to  me ;  ef  it  would  be  worth  anything." 

"  It  am  de  chance  of  havin'  a  home,  an'  a  father  an'  mother,  like 
white,  'spectable  boys.  It  am  the  chance  of  bein'  a  good,  hon- 
noble  man.  That's  shore." 

"  But  I'll  allays  be  cullored,  Mammy  ?  "  anxiously. 

"What  does  that  matter?"  She  sang  rejoicing  bits  of  class- 
hymns  under  her  breath  as  she  undressed,  and  laying  down  beside 
him,  fell  asleep  long  before  the  boy,  with  a  smile  on  her  face.  But 
there  was  none  on  his. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

IN   THE    HOSPITAL. 

BUKLEY  had  underrated  the  importance  of  Markle's  injury ;  the 
wound  in  his  shoulder  after  he  reached  the  hospital  at  Nashville 
produced  a  low  fever,  which  held  him  week  after  week,  lying  on  his 
pallet,  without  acute  pain,  but  growing  daily  more  bony  and  sap 
less  and  yellow.  This,  too,  while  his  regiment  fought  the  battle 
of  Corinth,  and  came  up  to  Kentucky,  finding  death  or  promotion, 
as  their  chance  might  be. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  said  to  the  assistant  surgeon  one  morning, 
pulling  up  his  shirt-sleeve,  with  a  forced  laugh.  "I'm  withered 
into  a  mere  wisp  of  nerves;  I'm  as  captious  and  hysteric  as  a 
woman ;  the  main-spring  has  had  a  jar,  and  your  drugs  don't  touch 
it,  Hall." 

Hall  took  off  his  gloves,  straightened  and  folded  them  gravely. 
"  No,  I  know  that,  Lieutenant,"  putting  them  in  his  breast  pocket. 
"  The  truth  is,  your  symptoms  are  such  as  I  have  not  met  before  ; 
and  I  advise  you  now,  as  I  did  two  weeks  ago,  to  apply  for  passage 
north,  where  you  can  be  properly  treated.  There  is  a  hospital  in 
Philadelphia  for  the  cure  of  nervous  diseases  produced  by  wounds." 

Markle  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  too  late ;  I  could  not  bear  the 
journey."  After  a  moment's  silence,  spent  in  looking  irritably 
from  side  to  side,  he  broke  into  a  laugh.  "By  George,  it's  humil 
iating  to  think  a  fester,  left  by  a  bit  of  lead,  has  the  power  to 
change  a  man  as  no  conflict  of  soul  could  do ;  I  grow  more  selfish 
and  cowardly  day  by  day,  all  out  of  a  bit  of  hacked  flesh.  What 
of  my  man,  Nat  ?  "  changing  his  tone,  "  you  give  him  a  call  now 


WAITING  FOU  THE  VERDICT.  283 

and  then  ?     He  deserves  care,  doctor ;  good  wood,  knotted  in  the 
growth,  but  sound  at  the  root." 

"The  man  grows  better  but  slowly,"  said  the  doctor,  rising  to 
continue  his  rounds.  "He  hinders  his  recovery  by  his  anxiety  to 
return  to  Alabama.  Sheer  folly,  you  know;  Bragg  has  stopped 
our  communication  with  the  army  tolerably  effectually,  for  the 
present,  and  even  if  there  was  transportation  there  is  not  likely  to 
be  room  made  for  sick  niggers." 

"No,"  said  Markle,  gravely.  "Understand,  Hall,"  raising  his 
voice,  "  the  man  is  under  my  protection  while  we  remain ;  he  is  my 
servant,  for  the  present,  and  I  desire  that  he  shall  have  proper 
attention." 

"  If  you  go  North,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  pausing  at  the  door, 
"  he  will  accompany  you  ?  " 

Markle  hesitated.  "  There  is  no  question  of  that  kind,"  abruptly. 
"  I  am  not  going  to  the  North." 

"  Bragg  threatens  an  attack." 

"  So  ?  Well,  better  be  checked  off  by  a  bullet  than  to  sour  and 
dry  in  soul  and  body,  like  a  green,  stunted  apple.  Um !  Here  is 
Lytle  with  the  letters !  "  pulling  himself  up  on  the  pillow. 

An  hour  after  the  doctor  received  an  urgent  summons  to  Markle, 
and  found  him  sitting  lip  in  the  bed,  a  scarlet  blotch  of  color  on 
each  hollow  cheek.  "  I  have  had  Lytle  in  search  of  you  all  the 
morning,  Hall.  I  want  your  certificate,  or  whatever  is  necessary 
to  pass  me  to  that  hospital  you  spoke  of.  I  want  a  chance  for  life ; 
I'm  stifling  here." 

"  You  have  changed  your  mind  suddenly  ?  "  lifting  his  sandy  eye 
brows  with  mild  surprise. 

"I  have  reason — I  have  reason,"  kicking  the  quilt  off  impatiently. 
"How  soon  can  I  leave  this  infernal  bunk?  My  legs  and  arms  are 
half  paralyzed,"  stretching  them  out.  "And  to  think  of  all  I  have 
to  do,"  under  his  breath. 

"I  think  you  can  bear  the  journey  better  than  you  supposed," 
tranquilly  replied  the  lethargic  doctor.  "  I  see  no  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  your  being  sent  on  by  an  early  train,  say  to-morrow.  I'm 
heartily  glad  you  are  going,"  cordially;  "  you  need  total  rest  and 
relief  from  all  exciting  causes,  and  you  will  have  them  there." 

"Yes,  yes,"  with  a  faint  smile.     "To-morrow  let  it  be,  then." 

"  What  of  the  mulatto,  Nathan  ?  " 

Markle  started  out  of  a  fit  of  abstraction  into  which  he  had 
fallen.  "Nat?  I  hacl  forgotten  him.  Poor  fellow  !  Could  he  be 
removed  ?  " 

"  With  care,  yes." 

"  1  mur"«t  «ee  him  at  once,  then."  Hall  gave  the  requisite  orders,  and 
in  a  lew  iainutes  Nathah  wab  broaght  in  and  seated  by  Markle's  bed. 

He  neither  mumbled  over  Markle's  altered  face  nor  cried  out  for 


284  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

God  to  bless  him,  but  sat  quiet  after  the  first  glance,  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  looking  at  the  ground;  but  when  the  Lieutenant  held 
out  his  hand,  cheerfully,  saying  that  his  looks  belied  him,  and  that 
he  meant  to  cheat  old  Death  for  fifty  years  yet,  the  older  man's 
voice  failed  when  he  tried  to  speak,  and  he  only  nodded,  coughing 
behind  his  fingers. 

"  You  don't  look  in  the  best  training  yourself,  Nathan." 
"  No,  suh,  no.     But  I'se  gainin',  day  by  day.    De  rations  is  berry 
good,  suh.     An'  I  tink  lookin'  for'ad  to  de  first  ob  de  year  is  berry 
helpful.     I  hev'nt  seen  you  since  de  good  news  come,  suh,"  his  face 
lighting. 

"  No.  I  never  thought  to  live  to  see  the  day  when  your  people 
would  be  free.  To  be  honest,  Nathan,  I  have  dreaded  it — sudden 

freedom,  I  mean.     The  horrors  of  insurrection " 

"  O,  dat  ar,  suh  ?  "  thoughtfully,  after  waiting  for  him  to  go  on. 
"  I  don'  know  'bout  dat,  suh.  De  white  people  in  de  Souf,  dey 
want  der  own  guver'ment,  an'  dey  fights  for  it  wid  artillery  an' 
Parrott  guns,  an'  kills  tousands,  an'  dey  calls  it  war ;  an'  Nat  Tur 
ner,  he  want  his  freedom,  an'  he  fights  wid  knives  an'  pikes,  an' 
sech  wepons  as  he  gets,  an'  kills  fifty  odd,  an  dey  calls  it  murder. 
De  black  people  is  not  revengeful,  suh.  If  dey  hes  der  freedom 
gib  em,  suh,  you'll  not  hear  ob  no  insurrections." 

"  God  forbid  !  But  Nathan,  it  was  of  another  matter  I  wished 
to  talk  to  you.  I  am  going  North  to-morrow,  and  I  want  you  to 
go  with  me." 

The  mulatto  looked  up  with  a  sudden  terror,  and  put  out  his 
hand  as  if  to  draw  the  young  Lieutenant  to  him. 

Markle  laughed.     "You  look  like  a  drowning  man,  Nat." 
"  I'se  so  alone  hyur,  Mass  Markle ;  when  you'se  gone  God  knows 
wher'll  I  turn.     I  find  dis  is  a  big  world,  suh,"  his  eyes  wandering 
about  with  a  vague,  homesick  look. 
"  But  I  intend  you  to  go  with  me." 

"  I  tank  you,  suh,"  slowly.  "  I^ut  dat  can  hardly  be ;  I  must  go 
back  an'  find  Anny  an'  de  boy ;  Ise  not  done  forgot  dem  when  I 
cum  back  from  death's  door." 

Markle  fingered  the  sheet  uneasily  a  moment.  "I'll  be  candid 
with  you,  Nathan.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  return  at  present — 
impossible.  You  could  not  find  transportation ;  and  even  if  you 
were  able  to  undertake  the  journey  on  foot,  this  State  is  full  of 
Rebel  forces.  My  plan  was  that  you  should  go  with  me  to  Phila 
delphia.  I  will  place  you  in  a  proper  hospital,  and  when  I  am 
cured  you  shall  return  with  me  direct  to  headquarters.  I  will  serve 
as  a  sort  of  anchor,"  smiling,  "  for  you  to  the  old  place ;  but  with 
out  me,  you  would  drift  about  here " 

"  Like  a  bit  ob  rotten  riber  weed.  Dar  seems  to  be  no  place  tor 
me  yet,  in  dis  big  world ;  I  feel  dat,  suh." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  285 

Markle  did  not  reply,  and  Nathan  sat  with  his  hands  over  his 
eyes.  He  looked  up  presently,  with  his  ordinary  humble  quiet. 
"  M's  Markle,  I  spec'  you  is  right ;  but  it's  hard,  suh." 

"I  know  it,  Nathan;  but  trust  yourself  to  me,  I  will  see  that 
you  return  when  you  are  strong  enough." 

"  'Seems  as  if  we  wos  like  chil'ren,  allus,"  with  a  sigh.  Both 
men  were  silent  for  some  time,  when  Nathan  turned  abruptly. 
"  Whar  did  you  say  you  wos  goin',  suh  ?  "  hastily. 

"  To  Philadelphia." 

"  It's  dar  dat  Doctor  Broderip  lives,  as  M's  Burley  told  you  of?  " 

Markle  did  not  answer,  but  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  the  heat 
fading  out  of  it.  Supposing  he  had  not  heard,  Nathan  raised  his 
voice  slightly.  "A  surgeon,  suh,  as  M's  Burley  an'  you  wos 
speakin'  of;  I  tink  he  wos  to  marry  a  lady  you  both  know'd ;  I 
took  particklar  interest  in  dat." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  tink,  suh,  when  we  goes  dar,  I'll  find  him ;  p'r'aps  him  an'  I 
might  hab  some  words  to  speak  to  one  anoder ;  but  God  knows  ! " 

"  You  had  better  go  down  to  your  bunk,  Nathan,"  said  Doctor 
Hall,  authoritatively,  putting  his  head  in  the  door.  "  Jake  is  out 
side,  here,  to  help  you.  Your  master  needs  rest  for  the  journey." 

When  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  door  was  shut,  the  little  Lieu 
tenant  lay  quiet  a  long  time,  his  hands  clasped  under  his  head,  his 
black,  hawk-like  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  the  peculiar  look  which 
had  come  into  his  face  at  the  first  mention  of  Broderip's  name 
deepening. 

After  a  long  time,  he  thrust  his  hand  under  the  bolster  and  drew 
out  a  letter  which  he  had  received  that  morning — the  scrawl  of 
some  old  crony  in  the  law  offices  and  at  evening  dances,  full  of  the 
town  gossip.  But  it  was  only  two  lines  which  Markle  found  to 
read. 

"  Your  old  friend  Conrad  has  met  with  fortune,  or  at  least  a 
chance  to  catch  her  skirts  if  he  make  good  time.  Boyd,  the  fellow 
who  swindled  him  so  thoroughly,  has  been  arrested,  in  Philadel 
phia,  and  can  be  made  to  disgorge,  they  say,  if  he  falls  into  tight 
hands ;  so  the  old  man  has  gone  on.  Margaret  is  with  her  father, 
of  course — silent  and  immovable  as  always.  '  O  rare,  pale  Marga 
ret  ! '  "  The  angry  blood  mounted  into  Markle's  face  ;  he  tore  the 
paper  on  which  her  name  was  desecrated  into  fragments.  In  his 
secret  thoughts  he  had  dared  sometimes  to  softly  call  her  "  Marga 
ret,"  and  had  blushed  and  shivered,  when  it  was  done,  like  a  girl. 
This  fellow,  Cropps,  took  it  into  his  tobacco-stained  mouth  as  he 
would  any  public,  paltry  word. 

Then  the  thought  came  back,  that  there  was  another  man  beside 
himself  who  some  day  might  have  the  right  to  call  her  name,  to 
touch  her  hand,  to  kiss  her  lips.  The  poor  Lieutenant  stiffened  his 


286  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

weak  little  body  on  the  bed  and  laid  his  arm  over  his  face,  which, 
every  moment  grew  more  pale. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said  to  Hall,  looking  up  steadily  at  him,  when 
they  came,  several  hours  afterward,  to  close  the  wards,  "  I  will  be 
ready.  I  find  my  strength  returning  with  every  beat  of  the  pulse. 
I  have  work  to  do  ;  I  do  not  think  I  shall  fail  in  doing  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

RECOGNITION. 

THE  hospital  in  Philadelphia  to  which  Markle  was  removed  was 
a  roomy,  old-fashioned  country  house  in  the  northern  suburb,  sur 
rounded  by  thick  woods  and  broad,  green  slopes.  Dalton,  a  news 
paper  man,  an  old  friend  of  his,  from  Dubuque,  living  then  in  the 
city,  hurried  there  to  welcome  him  the  morning  after  his  arrival. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  George?"  he  asked,  anxiously,  for 
Markle's  altered  face,  and  a  certain  uneasy  motion  of  the  eye, 
alarmed  him  more  than  he  chose  to  acknowledge. 

"  Nothing,  except  to  provide  for  my  servant's  admission  into  some 
hospital ;  he  cannot  remain  here,  and  he  requires  immediate  care." 

"  I'll  see  to  it.  You  said  you  had  friends  here ;  can  I  find  them 
for  you  ?  " 

Markle  gnawed  his  lip.  "  No.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  am  chained 
hand  and  foot  by  this  disorder.  God  knows  whether  I  will  gather 
strength  in  time." 

Dalton  tapped  his  rattan  against  his  boot,  only  by  an  unintelli 
gible  glance  noting  the  irrelevant  answer. 

"  Who  are  the  physicians  in  attendance  here  ?  "  demanded  Markle, 
abruptly,  after  a  pause.  "  Is  Doctor  Broderip  among  them  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.  I  regard  the  fellow  as  a  quack.  You  had  no  wish 
to  put  yourself  under  his  care?" 

"  No ;  but  I  had  a  curiosity  about  the  man.  If  I  could  see  him  I 
think  I  could  test  him — could  tell  what  manner  of  metal  he  is  of." 

Dalton  noticed  that  Nathan,  who  was  lying  on  a  pallet  near 
them,  waiting  for  removal,  lifted  his  head  and  listened  eagerly. 
One  of  the  nurses,  passing  at  the  moment,  stopped.  "Doctor 
Broderip  will  pass  the  hospital  grounds  shortly,  sir,  if  you  wish  to 
speak  to  him ;  he  rode  past  at  early  dawn,  toward  the  Wissahickon 
road ;  it  is  time  now  for  him  to  return." 

Dalton  laughed.  "  I  saw  them ;  there  was  a  party  in  a  carriage. 
Broderip  was  in  attendance  on  a  pale,  high-featured  girl — a  singular 
order  of  beauty !  It  was  when  I  was  crawling  home  from  the 
office,  just  as  day  lifted.  The  Wissahickon  is  a  solitary  little 
creek,"  turning  to  Markle  with  an  explanatory  tone,  "  where  '  lovers 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  287 

go  together,  two,  ever,  for  company ; '  but  in  this  case  I  noticed  there 
was  a  blind  old  man  with  them." 

Markle  asked  no  further  questions,  but  whenDalton  was  gone  he 
dragged  himself  through  the  grounds  to  a  seat  under  a  walnut 
tree,  close  to  the  road  along  which  Broderip  and  Miss  Conrad  must 
pass.  It  was  a  clear  October  day,  warm  with  golden-tinted  sun 
light,  the  air  scented  from  cut  corn-fields  and  the  neighboring  cedar 
thickets,  the  outline  of  the  forest  trees  about  him  defined,  solid  and 
dark,  upon  the  grass  at  his  feet,  while  the  flying  clouds  overhead 
threw  vapory  waves  of  mist  upon  the  sunny  slopes  of  yellow  stub 
ble  beyond,  that  came  and  faded  over  them,  like  mere  dreams  of 
shadow. 

But  Markle  saw  nothing  but  the  quiet,  country  road,  or  lane,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  boundary  fence  beside  him ;  did  not  turn, 
even,  when  Nathan  limped  along  the  path,  and  sat  down  on  the 
grass,  pulling  his  felt  hat  over  his  restless,  hungry  eyes,  and  then, 
putting  his  hands  on  his  knees,  took  up  his  silent  watch. 

The  day  deepened  into  noon  ;  a  thorough  Autumn  day,  gathering 
warmth  and  color  and  field-scents  with  every  breath ;  a  moist  air 
stirred  the  half-dried,  red  leaves  overhead,  arid  sent  them  rustling 
to  their  feet.  A  bird,  whose  nest  was  in  the  lilac  bushes  near,  twit 
tered  and  hopped  on  the  fence  fearlessly,  so  absolute  was  the  silence 
of  the  two  men  who  sat  patiently  watching,  hour  after  hour. 

At  length  a  floating  cloud  cooled  and  grayed  the  noonday,  and 
just  then  a  woman's  clear  laugh,  followed  by  the  roll  of  wheels, 
echoed  along  the  shady,  narrow  lane.  Markle  started,  as  if  to  rise, 
and  then  sat  quiet,  almost  concealed  by  the  hedge  in  front  of  him. 
The  mulatto  was  motionless. 

It  was  a  pretty,  homelike  picture  which  the  next  moment  flashed 
into  view;  a  low  chaise,  drawn  leisurely  by  a  pair  of  jetty  ponies, 
in  which  a  soldierly,  gray-haired  man,  in  coarse,  brown  clothes,  sat 
stiffly  erect,  with  a  chubby  boy  between  his  knees,  both  of  them 
looking  at  the  lady  who  drove. 

Margaret.  The  little  Lieutenant  started  up,  his  eyes  on  fire,  his 
cap  lifted.  But  she  did  not  look  at  him.  The  lines  rested  loosely 
in  her  hand,  her  head  was  bent,  listening  to  some  jest  between  hoi- 
father  and  a  small,  spare  man  who  rode  beside  her,  dressed  in  a  long, 
gray  coat  and  shovel  hat,  like  a  Romish  priest's.  Her  beauty 
struck  Markle  as  unfamiliar,  with  a  wonder  akin  to  pain.  She 
seemed  to  come  into  the  fresh,  splendid  morning,  and  chord  with  it, 
as  would  the  final  triumphant  note  into  a  grand  fugue.  She  might 
have  been  the  type  of  the  morning  itself,  with  its  few  emphatic 
lines,  its  depth  of  light  arid  color,  its  content  to  be  idle  in  its 
strength.  There  was  a  change  in  her  face,  too,  which  made  his 
heart  sicken  with  jealousy;  a  look  of  dependence,  of  a  happy  sub 
jection,  new  to  it,  as  was  the  rose-flush  struggling  to  her  cheek  and 


288  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

the  dewy  brilliance  of  her  down-cast  eyes.  Her  lap  was  heaped 
with  the  feathery  fern  leaves  which  they  had  gathered  among  the 
hills.  She  broke  and  twisted  them  with  one  hand ;  and  Markle 
noted  that  the  eyes  of  the  man  beside  her  rested  on  it,  and  that  its 
fingers  trembled,  as  if  even  the  blind  matter  in  her  flesh  owned  his 
power. 

Broderip  was  on  the  side  of  the  carriage  nearest  to  Markle ;  the 
young  officer  leaned  on  the  fence,  looking  up  at  him,  reading  his 
face  as  it  never  had  been  read  before.  Forgetting  Margaret  as  he 
looked,  he  missed  none  of  the  coarser-featured,  talking  traits  in  it 
which  made  the  surgeon's  character  a  theme  of  street  gossip ;  the 
cruel,  inflated  nostril — the  sensitive,  indignant  mouth — the  hint  of 
cunning  and  rapacity  in  the  hazel  eye.  But  he  read  more ;  for 
Broderip,  unconscious  of  a  spy,  was  looking  at  the  one  human  being 
that  he  loved,  and  the  soul  of  the  man  broke  through  the  mean, 
vitiated  flesh  of  its  prison,  and  came  to  the  light  as  a  starving  cap 
tive  might  to  his  cell  window  for  light  and  air. 

They  passed  slowly,  giving  him  time  for  his  scrutiny.  He  was  a 
keen  observer,  apt  to  rely,  too,  on  his  first  recognition  of  a  new 
character.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  whole  life  of  his  rival  opened 
to  him  in  that  first  moment.  He  drew  back,  looking  after  the  dust 
raised  by  their  wheels,  with  a  bitter  defeat  in  his  face. 

"  He  is  a  better  man  than  I,"  he  muttered.  He  had  expected  to 
find  him  contemptible  and  paltry,  with  quackery  stamped  on  him, 
he  hardly  knew  why.  With  his  disappointment,  however,  came 
secretly  that  healthy  sense  of  satisfaction  with  which  two  finely- 
tempered  blades  strike  each  other,  or  one  man  of  the  true  blood 
recognizes  another,  by  the  masonry  of  a  glance,  even  in  his  enemy. 

When  the  carriage  and  horse  passed  down  the  winding  lane,  he 
turned  to  regain  the  house ;  he  had  come  down  unassisted,  but  now 
he  held  by  the  fence  for  support.  He  stopped  short:  the  mulatto 
stood  before  him,  his  hand  dropped  on  his  breast,  his  mouth  open, 
his  eyes  full  of  tears,  devouring  the  thin  gray  figure,  disappearing 
in  the  distance,  his  face  alive  with  exultation ;  his  voice  even  was 
wiry,  and  beyond  his  control  when  he  spoke. 

"  I'se  must  go  to  de  oder  hospital  dis  hour,  suh — clis  hour !  Dar's 
a  man  dat  I  hev  a  message  for ! "  He  paused,  putting  his  hands 
over  his  contorted  face,  subduing  his  voice,  which  had  mounted 
into  a  piping  cry. 

Markle  leaned  more  heavily  against  the  fence,  looking  at  Nat, 
who,  for  some  strange  reason,  seemed  to  him  more  of  the  negro, 
and  further  removed  from  the  white  man  at  that  moment  than 
ever  before.  Some  old  unexplained  words  of  Burley's,  a  perplexing 
flood  of  intangible  fancies,  a  likeness  that  escaped  when  you  traced 
it,  rushed  upon  his  brain,  proving  nothing,  as  he  told  himself  with 
a  sudden  shiver,  as  if  the  day  had  grown  chilly. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  289 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Dar's  a  man  yonder.  De  Lo'd  God  lies  put  de  lines  ob  his  life 
and  mind  togedder  dis  day — to-day,  an'  blessed  be  His  name  ! " 

Markle  stood  still.  The  doubt  which  had  entered  in  the  last 
moment  into  his  mind,  seemed  to  his  clear  sense  of  honor  a  ready 
treason  to  the  man  who  was  his  rival ;  but  he  could  not  force  it 
down.  There  came  on  the  instant  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
again  up  the  lane.  The  carriage  had  stopped,  and  Doctor  Brod- 
erip  rode  back  for  some  trifle  which  had  been  dropped.  He 
passed  and  repassed  rapidly,  glancing  carelessly  at  the  two  men  in 
the  hospital  grounds.  His  horse  was  a  clean-built,  thorough-bred 
mare,  with  delicate  limbs,  and  head  held  high.  It  came  close  to 
the  fence.  Markle  leaned  forward  with  another  purpose  in  his 
scanning  of  the  thin-ribbed,  erect  figure,  the  marked  face  half  hid 
by  the  wide-rimmed  hat:  the  white  hand  that  guided  the  horse,  a 
diamond  blazing  at  the  wrist.  Broderip,  after  he  had  paused, 
suddenly  removed  the  hat  to  push  back  the  black  wisps  of  coarse 
hair  from  his  face ;  and  the  mulatto,  as  if  the  motion  he  made  was 
more  than  his  control  could  bear,  called  out  some  word  after  him, 
in  a  husky  uhisper,  then  stopped  breathless. 

The  surgeon  drew  his  rein,  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then 
rode  on.  But  his  figure  and  face  had  b^en  in  the  meantime  in 
sharp  relief  in  the  full  daylight,  and  Markle  turned  frowning 
away  from  it  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  his  honest  heart,  as  if  he 
had  listened  to  his  own  sentence  for  life  read — a  sentence  from 
which  there  was  no  commutation. 

Nathan  followed  Broderip  with  his  eyes,  until  he  reached  the 
carriage,  and  bent  over  Miss  Conrad  with  a  smile  ;  then  he  turned, 
rubbing  his  yellow,  misshapen  hands  over  each  other. 

"  Ise  '11  go  now,  wid  your  permission,  suh.  I'll  send  immediate 
for  de  man  I  must  see,  to  come  to  de  hospital.  " 

Markle,  left  alone  in  the  quiet  of  the  sunlight,  with  no  sound  but  the 
thrush  picking  at  a  twig,  and  a  leaf  falling  now  and  then,  walk  d 
with  unsteady,  slow  steps,  to  and  fro  for  a  long  time,  with  his  head 
bent  and  brows  knitted.  He  stopped  at  last,  drawing  himself 
erect,  as  one  who  had  reached  a  decision  that  was  final,  and  leaned 
idly  over  the  fence  rails,  looking  down  into  the  sunny  corn-field. 

But  his  face  had  altogether  lost  its  color. 

(T 
"I'll  meet    this    Broderip    on    level   ground,"    George    Markle 

thought,  his  eyss  full  of  sweet,  healthy  temper.  "He  has  made  a 
better  fight  with  the  world  than  I.  I'll  tako  no  cowardly  shelter 
behind  the  color  of  my  skin.  I'll  keep  his  secret,  by  God." 


19 


290  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    DAWN    OF    A    NEW    LIFE. 

IT  was  the  surgeon's  adopted  son,  Phil,  who  was  in  the  carriage 
with  old  Mr.  Conrad;  it  was  Phil,  in  fact,  who  had  planned  the 
excursion ;  he  found  Doctor  Broderip  entered  into  it,  as  he  did  into 
all  of  his  schemes  now-a-days,  as  if  they  were  only  boys  together. 
So  the  lad,  who  was  a  gay,  affectionate,  clean-hearted  little  fellow, 
was  master  'of  the  expedition,  and  the  others  followed  his  lead 
with  the  zest  and  keen  enjoyment  of  silly  trifles  of  children. 

Not  only  Phil  had  noted  the  change  in  Broderip ;  the  patients 
in  the  hospitals,  Farr  and  Hubbard;  the  dullest  servants  behind 
his  chair,  felt  the  difference,  as  they  would  between  a  day  of  even 
sunshine  and  morbid,  sultry  weather.  They  ascribed  it  to  different 
causes;  but  they  all  felt,  dimly,  that  some  trammel  was  thrown 
from  him. 

Burley  had  put  the  truth  in  coarse  words.  He  had  chosen  finally 
what  he  held  to  be  a  man's  right,  to  love  and  be  loved.  Whatever 
scruples  had  kept  him  from  Miss  Conrad,  either  reason  or  passion 
had  conquered.  It  was  not  hard  to  regain  his  old  footing  with 
her  father,  when  the  old  man  was  coDvinced  of  his  sincerity. 
"And  I  think,  Margaret,  we've  come  to  the  root  of  the  man  at 
last ;  there's  a  different  ring  in  his  voice,  and  in  his  very  steps  on 
the  floor.  He's  thorough  grit,  eh  ?  I  used  to  doubt  it." 

To  which  Margaret  assented,  but  did  not  smile,  dreamily,  after 
the  fashion  of  young  girls  when  their  lovers  are  talked  of.  Since 
their  return,  through  all  the  Summer  of  pleasure  and  gratification 
which  he  had  commanded  about  her  (for  the  very  air  she  breathed 
he  would  have  made  rare  and  delicate),  she  had  felt  day  by  day 
the  magnetic,  massive  force  of  a  stronger  nature  than  her  own 
pressing  closer  and  closer  to  her.  Her  will,  her  opinions,  her 
judgment,  gave  way;  she  shrank  back,  step  by  step,  paler  and 
weaker  daily,  her  secret  yet  hid  in  her  breast,  before  the  steady, 
entering  hand  that  would  have  dragged  it  from  her. 

Between  the  man  and  woman,  however,  there  was,  except  on  the 
most  commonplace  matters,  absolute  silence. 

Broderip  rose  this  morning,  determined  that  the  silence  should 
end.  To-day  he  would  be  born  again.  He  was  unusually  quiet 
and  composed  in  his  motions ;  but  Phil's  eyes  did  not  lighten  with 
a  more  simple-hearted,  eager  smile.  He  went  into  the  room  they 
called  his  mother's  while  the  stars  were  yet  shining  in  the  unbroken 
night,  to  bid  her  good-by.  She  peered  into  his  face,  moving  the 
lamp  that  burned  by  the  bed-head. 

"  There  is  no  change  in  thy  resolve,  John  ?  " 

"  No,"  smoothing  the  gray  hair  gently.  She  moved  restlessly, 
smothering  an  anxious  sigh 


WATTIXG  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  291 

"Think  of  it,"  calmly.  "  I  have  carried  patiently  the  accident  of 
my  birth,  until  the  best  years  of  my  life  are  over.  It  was  no  fault 
of  mine.  It  has  been  the  old  story  of  a  dead  body  chained  to  a 
living  man.  I  mean  to  bury  it  out  of  sight  to-day.  I  mean  to  have 
a  chance  to  breathe,  and  live,  and  love.  I  will  stand  up  before 
God  like  other  men." 

She  took  his  bony  hand  in  hers  and  held  it  for  a  few  moments  to 
her  wizened,  babyish  face.  It  was  a  rare  sign  of  affection  with  her; 
then  she  bade  him  good-by  tenderly,  as  any  mother  would,  called 
him  back  to  say  it  again,  and  to  look  up  in  his  face  with  some  inco 
herent  words  of  encouragement,  the  tears  in  her  queer,  light  eyes. 
But  she  did  not  say,  God  bless  him,  on  his  new  path. 

It  was  yet  early  dawn  when  they  reached  the  little  creek,  and  fol 
lowed  its  solitary  course  through  the  heavily-wooded  hills  rising 
from  its  edge,  about  which  yet  hung  the  silvery  mist.  Swift,  cold 
winds  chafed  their  blood  ;  the  sky  was  filled  with  flakes  of  shining, 
flying  cloud,  broken  from  the  masses  which  rose  in  the  far  horizon 
in  solid  crimson  ramparts.  They  were  a  careless,  merry  party; 
sang,  laughed  because  the  laugh  was  ready,  drove  leisurely  along 
under  the  overhanging  trees,  wet  with  dew,  or  scrambled  up  the 
hill-side  to  find  scarlet  and  pink  fungus,  according  to  Master  Phil's 
whim.  The  boy  was  a  favorite  with  the  old  preacher,  who  indulged 
him  in  every  foolish  fancy.  It  was  the  first  time  Broderip  had  seen 
Margaret  with  a  child.  There  was  a  motherliness  about  her,  ac 
cepting  Phil's  incomplete  notions  with  an  earnest  gravity,  that 
brought  a  smile  to  his  face. 

Then  came  the  long  row  up  into  the  lonely  silence  of  the  river, 
the  boat  rippling  the  surface  of  the  water  into  fretted  silver,  the 
briery  vines  laden  with  pink  blossoms  dipping  on  either  side,  the 
old  man  bending  to  his  oars  with  "  yos  "  and  "  halloos  "  that  roused 
the  yet  sleeping  echoes  of  the  hills,  the  girl's  cheek  growing  color 
less  as  she  sat  next  to  Broderip,  dragging  her  hand  through  the 
blue,  cold  water.  And  then  breakfast,  he,  host  of  the  little  feast,  in 
a  room  with  the  wet  branches  of  the  sycamore  thrust  in  at  the  win 
dow,  and  just  below,  the  gurgling  drip,  drip  of  a  hill  spring;  the 
white  table  with  its  hot  coffee  and  waffles  and  broiled  chicken  ;  the 
old  man  and  the  boy  on  either  side  of  him,  each  of  whom  touched 
him  so  nearly,  and  the  woman  opposite,  holding  the  house-mother's 
place. 

It  was  home  at  last. 

Miss  Conrad  remembered  afterward  that  through  all  the  gayety 
and  novel  zest  of  that  fresh,  fragrant  morning,  there  had  been  an 
absence  in  Broderip's  look  and  voice  of  the  habitual  nervous  inten 
sity,  an  almost  solemn  tenderness  and  quiet,  as  if  the  love  and  good 
ness  of  God  came  to  him  for  the  first  time.  When  the  morning  was 
over  and  they  were  ready  to  return,  he  turned  on  his  horse,  looking 


292  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

up  into  the  solitude  of  the  ravine  with  its  walls  of  pines,  the  slow, 
clear  water  reflecting  the  pure  blue  above.  "I  am  sorry  to  go 
home,"  he  said,  simply. 

"You  enjoyed  the  morning  like  a  boy,"  she  said. 

He  smiled.  "  A  very  knowing,  foul  one,  then,  coming  home  to 
feel  his  mother's  hand  on  his  forehead." 

Mr.  Conrad  caught  a  word  or  two  without  the  meaning,  and  soon 
after,  as  the' wider  road  suffered  them  to  ride  abreast,  said :  "  I  have 
often  wondered  what  make  of  woman  was  your  mother,  Doctor  ? 
Pve  always  a  curiosity  to  trace  the  forbears  of  men  I  know.  The 
features  of  character  don't  descend  as  strongly  marked  as  in  horses, 
but  very  near.  Now,  you  are  like  your  mother,  eh  ?  " 

Broderip  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  then  said,  with  a  laugh, 
that  he  could  not  tell.  "  My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  boy,  and 
our  family  was  not  one  who  thought  it  worth  while  to  preserve 
their  annals  with  care." 

He  fell  behind  for  a  while.  When  he  rode  up,  his  face  was  hag 
gard,  as  if  the  dead  body,  which  he  had  meant  to  bury,  yet  hung 
close  to  him.  But  if  it  did,  he  succeeded  in  thrusting  off  remem 
brance  of  it.  Nothing  should  balk  him  of  his  new  life. 

It  was  near  noon  when  they  passed  Markle  and  Nathan  in  the 
hospital  lawn,  and  a  few  moments  later  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
Broderip's  grounds,  and  went  in  to  look  at  some  monstrosity  of  a 
flower  to  please  the  gardener. 

Lunch  was  spread  in  the  breakfast-room,  for  which  Mr.  Conrad 
and  Phil  found  they  had  an  appetite,  and,  passing  by  the  fruits  and 
wine,  they  attacked  the  cold  meat  with  a  gravity  which  promised  a 
lengthy  seige. 

"  Remember,  you  come  to  me  this  evening,"  said  Broderip,  as 
they  rose  at  last  from  the  table.  "I  have  no  other  guests  ;  but  I 
have  found  music  that  will  satisfy  you,  Mr.  Conrad.  The  ballad- 
singer  H has  promised  to  give  you  Scotch  ditties  until  you  cry, 

enough." 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up,  coloring  slightly,  as  if  the  costly 
favor  irked  him.  "  I'm  obleeged  to  you,  Doctor.  Not,"  relaxing 
into  a  smile,  "for  the  money  paid,  but  for  remembering  my  triflin' 
notions  so  long.  It's  onusual." 

"  No,"  gravely.  "  I  have  so  few  friends,  I  remember  their  whims 
as  a  woman  would."  He  had  accompanied  them  to  the  gate,  before 
which  their  carriage  stood,  and  stood  with  one  hand  on  it,  while 
Phil  gathered  a  bouquet  for  Mr.  Conrad.  One  of  the  footmen  came 
up  to  him. 

"  A  messenger,  sir,  from  .the  hospital  in  Turner's  lane.  A  colored 
man  wishes  to  see  you  immediately.  A  wound,  I  believe,  sir. 
They've  removed  him  to — " 

Broderip's  face,   which  was  unusually  gentle    at  the    moment 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  293 

clouded.  "  Tell  him  it  will  be  impossible.  I  will  see  him  to-mor 
row.  I  have  a  capital  operation  at  the  almshouse  at  two  o'clock. 
I  would  not  have  refused  a  kindness  to  a  dog  to-day,  if  I  could 
have  helped  it,"  at  which  Mr.  Conrad,  to  whom  he  spoke,  smiled. 
The  old  man  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  of  what  this  day  was  to  him. 
When  he  had  assisted  her  father  into  the  carriage,  Broderip  came 
back  to  Margaret.  He  looked  beyond  her  as  he  spoke,  and  his 
hands  were  nervously  clasped  behind  him. 

"  You  will  not  refuse  to  come  with  your  father  this  evening  ? 
I — there  are  a  few  words  which  I  have  wished  to  speak  to  you 
alone." 

He  thought  it  most  tender  to  warn  her;  he  trembled  lest  his  pas 
sion  should  urge  him  to  attack  her  with  words  of  coarse  strength 
and  heat.  Beyond  measure,  at  that  moment,  her  nature  seemed  to 
him  delicate  and  frail ;  his  own,  vulgar  and  repellant.  He  must  re 
member  that ;  he  must  put  the  very  remembrance  of  his  origin  out 
of  his  mind,  lest  it  should  taint  his  words  and  thoughts,  and  render 
him  unfit  for  her. 

Margaret  bent  her  head.  "  I  will  come,"  she  said,  gravely.  Her 
lips  moved  irresolutely. 

"  You  said  something  more  ?  I  did  not  hear  you,"  stooping 
breathlessly  forward. 

"  No  matter.  Another  time — another  time,"  putting  her  hands 
hastily  on  Phil's  shoulders,  and  stooping  with  pale  face  to  kiss  his 
mouth.  When  she  was  seated  beside  her  father,  she  turned  and 
held  out  her  hand  frankly  to  Doctor  Broderip,  an  unusual  motion 
with  Margaret,  and  which  with  her  had,  somehow,  the  air  of  a  trust 
given  and  received. 

He  held  it  a  moment,  looking  up  at  her  with  craving  eyes,  a  pa 
thetic  smile  on  the  weak,  thin  jaws.  He  fancied  that  there  was  a 
trace  of  compassion  in  the  look  she  turned  back  on  him  as  they 
drove  away.  He  walked,  with  Phil  by  the  hand,  into  the  house. 
As  they  passed  through  a  thicket  of  privet,  he  looked,  with  quick 
ened  breath,  down  at  the  boy's  red  lips,  half  stooped  suddenly,  and 
then,  without  touching  them,  stood  upright,  coloring  scarlet,  as  if 
he  had  been  guilty  of  a  breach  of  honor. 

An  hour  or  two  afterward,  he  entered  the  room  at  the  alms- 
house,  where  the  operation  was  to  be  performed,  his  ordinary 
attendants,  Farr  and  Hubbard,  behind  him,  George  Farr  pushing 
closer  than  usual  up  to  his  demi-god.  He  never  had  known  Brod 
erip  in  the  genial,  gay  humor  of  to-day ;  his  very  dress  was  of 
finer,  softer  texture ;  the  perfume  of  wood  flowers  hung  about 
him,  his  step  was  quick  and  light,  his  eye  moved  eagerly  around  in 
search  of  friendly  recognition.  Farr  watched  jealously  the  faces 
of  the  other  physicians,  to  see  how  the  change  in  his  master  Avas 
received.  There  were  several  of  them  present ;  the  operation — • 


294  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

amputation  at  the  hip-joint — and  the  age  of  the  patient,  who  was 
a  sickly  child  of  nine  years,  made  the  occasion  one  of  unusual 
interest. 

.  They  gathered  about  the  table  when  the  little  girl  was  brought 
in,  leaving  the  space  free  for  Broderip,  whose  appearance  altered 
totally,  as  only  a  man's  of  strong  muscles  and  extreme  nervous 
power  could  do.  He  stood  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  the  whole  power 
and  intelligence  of  the  man  centered  in  the  keen,  slow  eye,  fixed 
on  the  patient,  while  his  fingers,  firm  as  a  steel  machine,  but  tender 
/  as  a  woman's,  adjusted  the  limb.  When  the  child's  poor,  patched 

clothes  were  thrust  aside,  and  the  puny  frame  and  pretty  little 
face  laid  bare,  a  significant  look  of  hopelessness  passed  from  one  to 
the  other ;  but  Broderip  only  grew  a  shade  more  sallow,  and  set 
his  thin  lips  close. 

Margaret  was  forgotten. 

There  was  a  profound  silence,  as  one  of  the  principal  physicians 
applied  the  ether,  and  the  surgeon  took  the  instrument  in  his  hand, 
hesitating  a  moment.  There  was  always  this  pause  before  he  be 
gan  a  capital  operation ;  perhaps  he  prayed  to  whatever  God  he 
had  for  help.  But  to-day  he  looked  up  suddenly  from  the  child  to 
the  men  in  front  of  them.  It  was  almost  certain  death  that  lay 
in  his  hand  for  her  in  the  next  moment,  and  her  life  had  been  so 
hard — she  was  such  a  pretty,  modest  little  thing  !  The  great 
dumb  part  of  his  own  life  made  this  little  stifled  voice  pitiful  to  him, 
as  to  no  other.  Clammy  drops  came  out  over  his  bony  forehead. 
He  took  up  the  childish  hand  in  his  palm,  looked  at  it  a  moment, 
and  then  kissed  her  face. 

"  Gentlemen  will  pardon  me,"  he  said,  gravely,  and  began  the 
operation.  But  there  had  been  a  silence  like  death  in  the  room 
when  he  kissed  her,  and  tears  in  more  eyes  than  George  Farr's. 

She  did  not  die  under  the  knife.  Broderip  carried  her  to  the 
dormitory,  performing  the  nurse's  part,  as  well  as  his  own ;  and 
when  the  mother,  a  dumb,  miserable-eyed  woman  in  black  came  and 
stood  by  the  bed,  he  spoke  to  her  in  a  tone  that  was  good  cheer 
itself.  "  I  think,  madam,  God  will  give  me  the  little  girl's  life, 
•  .  and  if  He  does,  I  mean  it  shall  be  a  happy  one.  " 

It  seemed  to  him  as  he  rode  back  with  bright  eyes  and  bound 
ing  pulse,  that  all  things  had  worked  together  to  make  the  birth 
day  of  his  new  life  happy  and  memorable. 

Hereafter,  perhaps,  he  could  bring  a  history  like  this  home  to 
tell  to  one  who  would  care  for  it  more  than  he. 

From  some  subtle  impulse  which  he  did  not  analyze,  he  turned 
out  of  his  way  in  going  home,  into  the  region  of  Baker  and  Bod- 
ford  streets,  a  quarter  which  he  had  carefully  avoided  before.  It 
is  the  deepest  depth  of  the  filth  and  iniquity  of  Philadelphia.  He 
drew  up  his  horse  at  the  corner  of  Ninth  and  Mary's  streets,  and 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  295 

deliberately  rode  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  latter.  It  was 
going  down  into  Gehenna.  He  missed  nothing :  the  stench,  the 
rancid,  broken  victuals  exposed  for  sale,  the  swarms  of  drunken 
blacks  lying  on  the  pavements  and  gutters  like  flies  in  the  sun,  a 
few  filthy  rags  covering  their  bestial  limbs,  turning  bleared  eyes 
and  blubber  lips  toward  him  as  he  passed.  Was  it  the  mysterious 
instinct  of  race  that  had  drawn  him  there  on  this  day,  when  he 
was  going  to  forswear  it  and  his  birth-wrong  forever  ?  Be  that  as 
it  may,  at  any  other  time  his  fastidious  white  blood  (and  there 
were  but  few  drops  of  any  other  in  Broderip's  veins)  would  have 
sickened  here  through  every  sense  ;  but  to  day  a  stronger  emotion 
than  disgust  sharpened  his  face  as  he  looked  at  the  negroes,  a  sense 
of  kinship  and  brotherhood,  a  fierce  denial  that  his  race  must  nec 
essarily  come  to  this  if  left  free  and  unguided.  His  race!  He 
stopped  again,  looking  back  at  these  negroes  as  they  had  come  out 
of  the  slave  pens  of  the  South,  only  to  find  in  freedom  a  wider  path 
to  hell ;  he  knew  that,  a  square  or  two  distant,  there  were  thousands 
of  others  struggling  to  rise,  a  respectable,  industrious,  God  fearing 
class  as  any  in  the  North,  yet  trampled  under  foot  by  the  law,  and 
society  finding  in  the  mere  color  of  their  skin  a  disgrace  which 
wiiite  criminals  and  harlots  held  beneath  their  shame.  Why 
should  this  wrong  call  to  him  to-day  for  redress,  in  a  voice  so 
urgent  and  terrible  ? 

His  puny  bpdy  dilated  with  a  man's  indignation  from  the  height 
to  which  he  had  raised  himself;  it  seemed  as  if  every  one  of  these 
black  or  yellow  faces  turned  an  appeal  to  him  for  help  "God!" 
he  muttered  as  he  rode  away,  "  They  have  had  hard  measure !  And 
John  Broderip  has  turned  his  back  on  them  with  the  rest,  a  cheat 
and  a  coward  !  " 

He  slackened  his  pace  presently,  however,  scanning  the  streets 
in  his  usual,  moderate,  grave  manner.  George  Farr,  who  was  lin 
gering  in  the  surgeon's  room  for  a  word,  when  he  arrived,  noted, 
however,  a  subdued  excitement  in  his  voice  and  eye  as  he  sat  down 
to  glance  over  the  book  of  entries,  pen  in  hand.  Looking  up 
abruptly,  he  said  without  preface, 

"I  begin  to  see  the  meaning  of  that  old  story  of  Jesus  of  Naza 
reth,  Farr,  in  which  you  put  such  faith.  To  put  ease  and  ambition 
and  woman  out  of  life,  to  give  life  itself  for  the  salvation  of  a  race — 
that  was  the  highest  manhood.  But,"  with  a  shrug,  "it  needed 
the  strength  of  a  God  !  " 

"  No.     The  sacrifice  is  not  a  rare  one." 

"Eh?  How?"  turning  on  him.  (Farr  was  the  only  one  of 
Broderip's  pupils  of  whom  he  made  a  companion,  because  he  was 
not  afraid  to  differ  with  him.) 

"The  sacrifice  has  been  imitated  in  every  age,  sir ;  everyday 
now,  by  the  men  who  go  into  the  war  to  free  the  negroes." 


296  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Broderip  wrote  on  in  silence.  When  lie  had  finished  the  page  he 
looked  up  with  absent,  contracted  eyes.  "  White  men  who  give 
their  lives  for  the  negro  ?  White  men  ?  "  he  said,  thoughtfully, 
closing  the  book.  Farr  was  too  much  used  to  his  incoherence  to 
wonder  or  question,  and  followed  him  as  he  went  silently  on  his 
rounds. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  he  had  finished,  and  coming  out, 
mounted  his  horse  again,  glancing  at  his  watch  with  kindling  eyes. 
It  was  but  an  hour  until  he  should  see  her.  Whatever  alien  doubts 
had  tormented  him  to-day,  with  the  wakening  of  the  old  blood  in 
him,  had  vanished.  He  sprang  from  the  saddle  at  his  gate,  throw 
ing  the  bridle  to  the  groom,  and  ran  up  to  his  own  chamber  with 
dilated  nostrils  and  set  lips.  The  long  fast  was  over ;  life's  cost 
liest  wine  waited  for  him ;  it  needed  but  to  thrust  out  his  hand 
now,  to  grasp  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXY. 


THE  house  was  softly  lighted,  and  filled  with  flowers ;  Doctor 
Broderip,  coming  down  and  pacing  up  and  down  the  long  suites  of 
rooms,  waiting  for  his  guests,  stirred  their  faint,  fresh  perfume 
in  the  air,  and  stopped  now  and  then  to  rearrange  a  vine  or 
cluster  of  lilies  whose  faulty  position  caught  his  eye.  The  quiet 
self-possession  which  often  precedes  a  crisis  in  life  had  come  to  him. 
He  was  dressed  in  his  ordinary  coarse,  old-fashioned,  gray  clothes, 
except  that  with  an  odd  fancy,  which  might  have  been  that  of  a 
girl,  the  garments  he  wore  were  all  new  :  if  there  were  any  unclean- 
ness  in  the  old  self  which  he  forswore  to-night,  he  thrust  it  from 
him,  even  in  paltry  superstitious  symbols  such  as  this.  When  a 
quick  step  in  the  hall  told  the  approach  of  his  guests  he  turned  his 
back  to  the  door,  looking  up  at  a  picture  to  give  himself  time  for 
breath,  straining  his  ears  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  her  footfall. 
It  was  only  a  servant  who  entered,  however. 

"  Mr.  Conrad  has  not  arrived,  sir,"  hesitated  the  man.  "  It  is  a 
patient,  a  colored  man  ;  I  had  to  promise  to  inform  you.  He  is*in 
the  operating-room.  He's  very  weak,  sir,"  apologetically. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  You  know  the  rules,"  with  a  scowl 
and  nod  of  dismissal.  "But  stop,  Robert!  "  as  the  man  went  out. 
"  Colored,  you  said  ?  I  have  an  hour,"  looking  at  his  watch. 
"  After  to-night  you  will  be  more  strict;  my  business  in  future 
muse  be  kepv,  out  of  rny  leisure  hoars." 

He  passed  through  the  rooms,  entering  the  little  matted  ante 
chamber  into  which  the  conservatory  opened,  arid  pushing  a  half- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  297 

glazed  door  ajar,  went  into  a  long,  uncarpeted  apartment,  at  the 
other  end  of  which,  by  the  bright  light  of  a  low  gas-burner,  Na 
than  sat,  on  a  bench,  waiting. 

Broderip  paused  inside  of  the  door,  closing  it  slowly  as  his 
hawk  eyes  scanned  the  figure  with  unusual  intentnes^.  The  mu 
latto  stood  up,  smiling,  and  bowing  humbly  again  and  again.  He 
had  dressed  himself  with  unusual  care,  with  a  vague  notion  of  do 
ing  his  brother  honor;  a  gaudy  waistcoat  and  broad  shirt-front  dis 
played  themselves  glaringly  under  Major  Bob's  shabby  dress  coat ; 
the  shoes  were  blacked  until  they  shone  again,  although  the  bare 
feet  showed  through  them ;  the  glass  earrings  yet  dangled  on  each 
side  of  the  thin,  starved  face;  he  held  his  hat  in  one  hand,  with 
the  other,  as  he  bowed,  laid  on  his  bald  head. 

The  room  was  long ;  the  surgeon  came  toward  him  with  a  quick, 
decisive  step,  which  grew  slower  as  he  approached,  and  stopped 
some  paces  away  from  him,  in  the  shadow.  He  clasped  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  stood  a  moment  silent,  then,  in  a  quieter  tone  than 
ordinary, 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,  sir  ?  " 

Nathan  bowed  again,  turned  his  hat  round  in  his  hand,  with  a 
sound  between  a  hysterical  chuckle  and  a  ery,  glancing  furtively 
sideways  at  the  man  before  him.  Seen  closer  the  features  were 
unfamiliar.  The  terrible  doubt  met  him  that,  after  all,  he  had 
been  mistaken. 

It  would  be  best  to  delay — to  make  sure. 

"I'se  is  not  strong,  suh,  ef  you'll  'scuse  me,"  when  he  tottered 
and  caught  by  a  table.  "I'se  come  a  long  way  wid  a  wound  hyur," 
touching  his  arm.  "It's  not  bin 'tended  to  so  berry  well.  Dey 
is'nt  p'ticklar  wid  men  of  my  cullor."  He  hesitated,  stammered 
and  broke  down.  There  was  no  reply.  The  stern,  unsmiling  face 
before  him  gave  him  no  aid. 

"  I'se  come  from  Alabama,  suh,"  with  a  keen  and  bolder  glance 
of  scrutiny.  "  When  I  seen  you  dis  mornin',"  gaining  courage  as 
he  went  on,  and  enunciating  slowly,  "I  tought  you'd  not  slight  a 
black  man  for  his  cullor.  I  sent  fur  you,  and  when  you  not  come, 
I  find  my  way  hyar.  I  tought,  no  matter  how  learned  you  was, 
you'd  not  slight  a  black  man  fur  his  cullor." 

"You  wished  me  to  examine  your  wound?"  slightly  passing  by 
whatever  covert  meaning  Nathan  had  tried  to  put  into  his  repeated 
words. 

"  Yes,  Mars."  He  began  to  pull  off  his  coat  slowly.  But  with 
out  knowing  it,  he  came  closer  step  by  step,  his  mouth  open,  his 
famished  eyes  fixed  on  Broderip,  holding  his  breath.  It  was  almost 
certain  to  him  now  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  "Suh,"  he  said, 
holding  out  one  hand  as  if  begging,  "  I'se  a  slave.  I'se  bin  kep 
from  father  and  brother,  wife  and  child,  most  ob  my  life.  I'se 


298  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

libed  alone.  I'se  tought  for  many  years  ob  de  time  when  I'd  meet 
agin  wid  dem  dar."  He  leaned  forward,  looking  into  the  hard, 
grave  face  for  answer.  None  came. 

"  I'se  come  off  ob  Mars  Jeems  Streblin's  place,  suh." 

There  was  an  imperceptible  shadow  at  the  name  in  the  baffling, 
hazel  eyes,  gone  in  an  instant.  But  it  did  not  escape  the  mulatto's 
watchful  gaze.  "  My  name's  Nathan,  suh.  I'se  got  no  oder  to  gib 
my  wife  and  child,"  with  a  feeble  laugh. 

"  You  have  had  hard  fortune,  Nathan.  But  there  are  many  men 
y-  who  never  have  had  wife  or  children  to  call  their  own,"  in  a  slow, 
mechanical  voice. 

"  Yes,  suh,  among  our  people.  Dah's  my  father,  suh.  He  an 
old  man,  now,"  with  the  same  probing  glance.  "He's  growed 
gray-headed  alone — n eider  wife  nor  children.  If  he  is  made  free 
de  fust  ob  de  year  he  '11  be  left  a  miseble  beggar  after  all  his  hard 
work  ;  and  he  don't  know  if  his  sons  is  libin  or  dead,  to  go  to  them 
for  help." 

Broderip  made  a  quick,  irresolute  motion,  a  spasm  passing  over 
his  face.  "  The  old  man  is  yet  alive  ?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  the  question  of  Joseph  to  his  brethren,  as  Nathan  remem 
bered  with  a  sudden  heat  in  his  blood.  "I  tink  he  is  alive,"  doubt 
fully.  "  I've  heerd  a  great  deal  ob  his  work  when  he  was  young. 
He  was, wonderful  handy  wid  de  fingers;  and  times  when  I  tink 
ob  his  bein  an  old,  no-account  nigger  now,  kicked  round  for  bein  ob 
no  use,  an'  me  strong  and  hearty,  it  makes  me  nigh  mad,  suh,  to  'mem 
ber  dat  tings  is  so — dat  I'se  chained,  as  you  might  say,  an'  can't 
help  him  ;  God  knows  I'se  willin '.  " 

Broderip  looked  at  the  man — at  the  ridiculous  dress  and  uncouth 
figure,  and  the  simple,  earnest  face  ;  then  he  glanced  at  his  own 
person,  which  bore  in  every  member  and  gesture  the  signs  of 
refinement  and  long  culture.  There  was  a  critical,  bitter  self- 
mockery  upon  his  face.  But  he  said  nothing:  drew  out  the 
drawer  of  a  cabinet  and  took  out  a  case  of  instruments  and  bun- 
dies  of  lint,  laying  them  on  the  table.  Nathan  glanced  at  them 
carelessly.  Wound  or  operation  mattered  little  to  him,  compared 
to  the  doubt  racking  his  brain.  He  wiped  his  forehead,  coughed, 
began  again  his  groping,  futile  efforts  to  wrench  the  man's  secret 
from  him. 

"'Pears  to  me,  suh,  if  de  people  ob  my  cullor  had  been  true 
men  dey'd  have  righted  dis  matter  ob  slavery  demselves.  Dey'd 
have  claimed  dere  just  wages,  and  edication,  and  dere  own  kins 
folks.  De  harder  de  life  are,  de  more  dem  as  am  our  brudders 
counts  to  us." 

Doctor  Broderip  bowed  assent,  motioning  to  him  to  remove  his 
shirt  sleeve,  and  inspecting  the  mangled  arm  with  careful,  grave 
eyes.  When  he  laid  his  fingers  on  the  yellow  flesh,  a  shiver  passed 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  299 

over  him,  which  Nathan  noted.  Was  it  likely  that  a  man  whose 
trade  this  was  should  turn  away,  with  sick,  sunken  hollows  about 
his  eyes  and  jaws,  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger's  blood?  But  he 
looked  beyond  the  surgeon  to  the  window  in  the  far  door,  through 
which  he  dimly  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  soft-tinted  lights,  silken 
curtains,  and  a  fairy-land  of  flowers,  and  the  dull  amazement  and 
perplexity  came  back  into  his  face ;  he  shrank  into  himself,  re 
mained  silent,  humble,  and  cowed. 

The  surgeon  found  the  wound  neglected,  unskilfully  dressed  at 
first,  and  refusing  to  heal  from  want  of  vitality  in  the  patient. 
He  placed  him  on  a  lounge,  going  about  the  work  with  cold  fingers 
and  a  rigid,  meaningless  face.  "  You  must  control  yourself,"  as  he 
unrolled  a  bandage,  "  I  am  going  to  give  you  pain  for  a  moment, 
but  your  life  is  in  danger." 

"I'se  not  afraid,  suh,"  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  face  brought 
nearer  to  his  own. 

Once,  during  the  operation,  he  lost  sense  and  breath.  Doctor 
Broderip  stoppedj  stiff  and  silent  as  a  pillar  of  stone,  looking  down 
at  him  as  if  it  were  his  own  ghost  that  lay  before  him.  The 
strange  likeness  between  them  in  that  moment  of  quiet  came  out 
clear  and  undoubted.  The  older  man  at.  last  drew  a  heavy  breath 
and  opened  his  eyes.  But  they  met  only  the  unmoved  face  of  the 
surgeon,  busy  with  his  work. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  sound  of  voices  in  the  drawing 
rooms,  dulled  by  distance — voices  with  the  indescribable  cadence 
about  them  which  belongs  to  thorough  breeding,  a  random  chord 
or  two  of  music,  the  soft  flutter  and  rustle  of  women's  dress. 
Broderip  looked  up  quickly  across  the  ghastly  wound  and  mulatto's 
body  at  the  distant  light,  as  if  the  sounds  reached  him  from  some 
world  with  which  he  had  nothing  farther  to  do.  The  sounds  were 
few  and  trivial,  but  as  a  scattered  note  or  two  will  suggest  a  per 
fect  harmony,  they  brought  a  whole  life  of  grace  and  beauty  before 
both  men. 

"  I'se  keepin'  you  from  your  friends,  suh,"  with  an  uneasy  move 
ment;  "let  dat  arm  alone.  I'se  oughtn't  to  hev  come;  I  wur  mis 
taken  'bout  some  tings.  You  ought  to  be  in  yander,  'pears  to  me. 

"  No,  my  place  is  with  you,  Nathan,"  his  hard  face  breaking  up 
into  a  smile,  more  weak  and  pitiable  than  the  slave's. 

"  You's  one  dat  knows  your  duty,  Doctor  Broderip,"   cheerfully. 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  lifting  one  hand  slowly  to  pass  over  his  fore 
head. 

The    sounds    came  nearer — Phil's  shrill  voice,  a    woman's    low- 
laugh.     The  whole  outer  man  may  be  a  mask,  but  the   laugh  be-  ' 
trays  the  secret;  this  was  curiously  innocent  and  sincere.     Nathan 
turned  as  he  heard  ii,  with  a  brightening  of  his    simple  face,    but 
the  surgeon  kept  his  eyes  fixed   on  the    wound.     Through   the   far 


300  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

door  Nathan  saw  the  boy  pulling  bits  of  a  vine  that  hung  from  the 
roof  of  the  conservatory,  and  the  fairest  woman  he  had  ever  seen 
standing  below,  waiting  for  them.  Looking  back  at  Broderip,  he 
found  that  his  eyes  were  on  her  now,  hard  and  dull.  Her  lithe 
figure,  in  its  thin,  white  robes,  was  in  front  of  the  wall  of  brilliant 
flowers,  her  bare  arms  were  held  up,  her  whole  action  was  free  and 
careless  as  he  had  never  seen  in  her  before.  There  was  color 
glowing  through  the  solid  ivory  flesh,  a  tender,  noble  child's  heart 
looking  through  the  pure  face,  waiting  for  the  call  of  its  master. 
Broderip  stood  up,  the  steel  probe  in  his  hand. 
His  wife,  waiting  for  his  strong  arm,  for  the  tenderness  and  pas 
sion  gathered  and  barred  within  his  breast  in  his  solitary  life ;  all 
his  recompense  waiting  with  her;  all  the  world  of  goodness,  and 
culture,  and  beauty  into  which  he  had  fought  his  way  during  these 
years,  waited,  it  seemed  to  him,  with  her  on  that  side  of  the  thin, 
glass  barrier.  On  this  side,  what?  With  the  few  black  drops 
that  made  him  kin  to  this  creature,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
brute's  intelligence  in  his  eyes — the  fortunes  of  his  race.  There 
was  no  middle  ground.  Let  him  acknowledge  the  mulatto  as  his 
brother,  and  he  stood  alone,  shut  out  from  every  human  relation 
with  the  world  to  which  he  belonged.  A  negro — no  wealth,  no 
talent,  no  virtue  could  wash  out  that  stain  or  put  him  on  a  level 
with  the  meanest  servant  in  his  house  again. 

He  bent  to  his  work,  his  hands  moving  swiftly ;  Nathan  made 
no  whimper  under  the  torture  they  gave,  but  his  brain  was  touched  ; 
his  jaw  fell  presently,  and  he  began  to  wander  childishly  in  his 
talk.  He  had  little  physical  strength  left  to  cope  with  this  new 
strain.  The  thought  of  which  his  mind  was  full  babbled  out 
presently.  Looking  straight  into  Broderip's  face,  with  the  recog 
nition  he  had  not  dared  to  hint  before,  he  said : 

"  I'se  oncertain,  suh,  if  you'se  my  brother  or  riot.  'Seems  as  if 
you  could'nt  be  de  lad  dat  rode  off  wid  M's  Jeems,  waving  his  ole 
cap  back  to  me,  lookin'  out  of  de  stable  window.  It's  bin  years 
an'  years,  and  I  neber  done  forgot  dat  peart  little  chap.  I  tought 
I'se  had  found  him  again.  'Pears  to  me  dat  de  disappointment  to 
night  was  de  hardest  ob  my  life."  He  took  one  of  the  surgeon's 
delicate  hands  into  his  yellow,  horny  palms,  pulling  it  with  a  slow, 
hopeless  motion.  The  surgeon  drew  it  away  with  the  same  subtle 
reaction  of  feeling  that  had  come  to  him  this  morning  among  the 
squalid  blacks.  They  were  his  own.  Whether  he  loathed  or  re 
spected  the  black  skin,  the  mysterious  sympathy  of  race  (as  real  in 
Broderip's  puny  frame  as  the  red  ligaments  that  bound  it  together), 
made  it  more  familiar  than  any  other;  the  whole  bond  of  child 
hood  and  its  associations  brought  it  close.  He  never  touched  one 
of  his  own  people  without  a  quick  throb  of  kinship  beneath  all 
of  the  shame  or  all  of  the  disgust. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  301 

In  the  room  without,  Phil  whistled  some  simple  air,  and  Marga 
ret,  as  she  arranged  her  flowers,  sang  carelessly  a  broken  verse  of 
the  song — a  sweet,  mellow  little  ditty,  such  as  she  might  carol  over 
her  sewing,  or  lull  a  baby  to  sleep  with.  It  brought  strange  pic 
tures,  long  hid  in  Broderip's  hungry  heart,  before  his  eyes.  He 
looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly,  and  then,  with  the  calmness  of 
settled  purpose,  down  at  Nathan. 

There  was  an  artery  which  had  been  tied ;  the  ligature,  though 
sufficient,  was  slight ;  there  was  a  keen  little  knife  that  lay  upon 
the  bedside.  One  touch  of  its  blade,  and  his  secret  was  safe  for 
ever.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  it. 

The  gas  light  above  them  threw  a  ring  of  light  about  the  couch; 
a  sudden  current  of  wind  jarred  the  flame,  and  threw  uncertain 
shadows  about  them.  Broderip  shivered  nervously — glanced  up 
with  an  oath.  To  his  superstitious  fancy  it  had  taken  life  to  delay 
him. 

"  Let  me  adjust  that  bandage  ;  it  binds  you  ?  " 

"  Dat's  so,"  with  an  uneasy  shift  of  his  body.  "  Kin  you  reach 
it,  Doctor,"  straightening  his  arm  for  Broderip's  convenience, 
talking  on  in  the  same  drowsy,  half  unconscious  monotone.  The 
surgeon  heard  keenly,  and  comprehended,  while  he  untied  the  first 
tie  of  the  knot.  The  room  directly  overhead  was  that  of  the  inva 
lid.  Was  it  a  morbid  fancy,  or  did  he  hear  a  warning  cry  of 
"  John !  John  ! "  Her  childish  old  face  was  thrust  like  a  shadow 
between  him  and  Nathan.  His  sight  was  clouded.  He  put  his 
hand  to  his  eyes.  "  It  was  no  use,  old  friend,"  he  thought ;  "  the 
brute  is  a  brute  still."  Reason  or  the  devil  hastened  to  supply  his 
brain  with  other  defence.  Never  before  had  they  found  it  so  cool, 
alert,  electric  with  vigor,  as  in  that  second  of  time,  while  he  stood 
balancing  the  knife  on  his  hand>  waiting  for  the  flickering  light  to 
grow  steady.  He  had  a  right  to  his  manhood — a  right.  How 
could  he  bring  his  faculties  and  needs  into  the  bound  allowed  this 
negro's  life  ?  It  was  self-murder. 

"A  narrow  life  demands  a  narrow  soul,"  he  quoted  aloud,  look 
ing  at  Nathan  with  a  cynical  smile,  which  faded,  leaving  his  lips 
blue  and  contorted.  His  eyes  searched  his  brother's  face ;  he 
remembered  that  it  was  for  the  last  time. 

A  simply  dull  perplexed  face,  for  Nathan  was  trying  to  under 
stand  the  words  which  he  supposed  were  addressed  to  him. 

"  I  don't  know  any  narrerer  way  of  livin  '  than  in  slavery,"  he 
said  patiently ;  "  dough  I  hadn  't  a  hard  master,  suh.  But  it 's  de 
loss — de  loss  ob  ebery  ting.  Howsever,  I'se  goin'  back  dar." 

The  light  had  steadied  now — the  knife  was  firm  in  his  fingers  ; 
yet  Broderip  stood  dully  repeating  the  last  words.  A  trifle  ;  but 
it  kept  back  the  last  moment.  "  You  are  going  back  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Massa,  I'se '11  take  my  chance.     I  can't  lib  on  de  milk 


302  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

and  honey  hyur,  while  de  ole  man,  and  Anny,  and  de  boy  is  yan- 
der.  If  I  find  'em  I  tink  God  is  good  ;  but  if  not — if  so  be  as  dey  's 
lost  to  me — I  'se  sees  dat  de  best  of  de  white  men  hyur  is  goin'  to 
Car'lina,  fightin'  for  my  people  yet  in  slavery  ;  and  I'se.'ll  gib  my 
life  long  wid  de  rest.  Dah's  nuffin  better  I  kin  do  wid  it." 

The  scarlet  blood  dyed  Broderip's  face  and  throat ;  he  looked  at 
his  brother  with  an  astonished  doubt  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  mean  that  you — you  would  give  your  life  for  your  people  ? 
Mankind  has  hardly  used  you  well  enough,  I  should  fancy,  to  edu 
cate  you  for  a  hero." 

"  I  donno,  suh,  what  you  mean  by  dat,"  after  a  moment's  hes 
itation.  "De  white  men  hes  kep  me  like  a  brute  in  my  life,  dat's 
clar,  but  dey  kent  hinder  me  from  dyin  like  a  man,"  turning  wearily 
on  his  side. 

Doctor  Broderip  drew  himself  slowly  up  from  a  stooping  pos 
ture,  with  a  heavy  breath,  like  one  awakening  from  a  sleep.  There 
was  an  instant's  pause,  and  then  a  slight  click  like  a  lancet  or  a 
knife  shut.  "  Like  a  man — A  MAJS",  and  the  brute  would  be  left 
behind  ?  "  he  said  under  his  breath. 

Nathan,  half  asleep  through  pain  and  exhaustion,  fancied  the 
voice  was  one  familiar  to  him  when  he  was  a  boy.  After  a  long 
while  the  surgeon's  hands  began  to  move  about  him  again  geuily, 
and  the  sallow  face,  when  it  bent  over  him,  was  transfigured  with 
the  strength  and  nobility  of  a  great  thought.  A  touch  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  maelstrom  will  send  the  doomed  man  to  the  upper  life 
again ;  and  that  chance  word  of  poor  Nat's  had  struck  Broderip's 
soul  out  of  its  murderous  depths  into  the  free  light  and  air.  He 
put  his  hand  on  the  mulatto's  broad,  melancholy  forehead  and  held 
it  there  a  moment.  Nat  smiled  humbly,  when  he  took  it  off,  at  this 
remarkable  token  of  the  great  man's  kindness.  He  never  knew 
what  that  touch  meant  to  him. 

"What  can  a  man  do  more  than  this,  that  he  should  give  his 
life  for  his  friends  ?"  he  heard  Broderip  say  in  the  indistinct  dis 
tance  to  which  all  about  him  was  dully  withdrawing.  "  Better 
that  than  wife  or  child." 

The  little  man  lying  on  the  lounge  roused  at  the  words,  thrust 
ing  one  arm  uneasily  under  his  bald  head,  "  It's  de  best  work  for  a 
man,  I  spose,  suh;  but,  O  my  God!  if  I  could  only  see  Anny  and 
de  boy  agin." 

There  was  no  reply ;  but  the  fingers  at  work  with  him  moved 
quick  and  deftly;  the  relief  was  soothing  as  an  opiate;  before 
Broderip  had  his  work  done,  the  mulatto  was  wrapped  in  a  sleep 
heavy  as  death.  The  surgeon  went  through  the  routine  of  putting 
his  instruments  in  a  case  and  washing  his  hands  like  an  automaton; 
then  he  came  back,  and,  throwing  a  cloak  over  the  sleeper,  lowered 
the  gas  and  stood  listening  to  the  faint  swell  of  music  that  ebbed 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  303 

and  flowed  through  the  room,  and  looking  down  at  him  with  a 
smile  of  mastership  in  his  hard  face. 

His  secret  was  still  his  own — his  fate  in  his  own  hands.  He 
could  send  this  man  back  to  the  hospital  to-night,  his  quest  baffled, 
and  turn  his  back  forever  on  him  and  his  race.  He  went  nearer  to 
the  door,  glancing  into  the  matted  little  room,  walled  with  flowers. 
It  was  vacant  now;  but  the  soft  lights,  the  perfume,  the  pure  air, 
waited  for  their  mistress,  he  thought.  Once  let  him  rid  himself  of 
this  man,  and  it  needed  but  a  word  to  bring  her  there,  to  tell  her 
the  long  delayed  story  of  his  love,  to  receive  in  her  reward  and 
atonement.  "  Let  him  rid  himself  of  this  man" — his  brother.  John 
Broderip  stooped  and  picked  up  the  hand  of  the  man  he  meant  to 
murder  half  an  hour  back,  scanning  it — scanning  the  meek  face, 
with  its  gray  ragged  fringe  of  hair,  combed  smoothly  down  over  the 
temples ;  the  bent  back,  which  had  felt  the  lash,  with  his  own  weak 
chin  quivering,  and  the  subtle  likeness  to  the  slave,  growing  more 
perceptible  each  moment,  in  his  yellow  face  and  stooped  body.  Some 
thing  stronger  than  selfishness  or  pity,  gripped  his  soul  at  that  mo 
ment  and  moved  its  currents,  as  the  rivers  of  water  flow  at  the  will 
of  the  king's  hand — nature,  instinct,  blood,  what  you  will — a  some 
thing  which  made  John  Broderip  and  his  life  and  wants  seem  but  a 
part  which  he  had  acted  in  a  comedy;  and  the  boy  Sap  in  the  sta 
bles,  with  his  animal  pleasures  and  his  animal  discontent,  the  only 
real  life  to  him. 

"Brother,  brother,"  he  said  aloud,  testing  the  sound.  For 
twenty  years  there  had  been  no  such  tie  between  him  and  any 
human  creature.  He  laughed  as  he  said  it — an  eager,  credulous 
laugh.  He  was  not  ashamed  of  this  sleeping  wretch,  of  the  coffee- 
colored  skin  and  clown's  clothes.  They  had  used  him  as  a  brute, 
but  they  could  not  hinder  him  from  discovering  what  true  manhood 
was.  "Better  than  I,"  said  John  Broderip — "better  than  I." 

How  the  poor  devil  had  clung  to  him,  too !  After  this  half  a 
life  had  gone,  following  up  the  boy  Sap,  with  love  such  as  John 
Broderip's  gifts  or  skill  had  never  been  able  to  buy  for  him.  Never 
— not  even  from  Margaret  ?  He  would  test  that.  At  the  thought 
his  very  lips  whitened.  Could  he  dare  that  ? — to  test  her  with  the 
truth  ? 

There  had  never  been  a  time  since  he  had  been  brought  face  to 
face  with  Margaret  Conrad's  blunt,  truth-telling  nature,  when 
this  thought  had  not  underlaid  his  love  and  passion  for  her.  A 
certainty  that  the  truth  would  be  an  eternal  barrier  between  them, 
and  justly  so  ;  yet  a  mad  impulse  to  tell  it  to  her,  which  he  had 
felt  for  no  other  since  he  assumed  his  disguise.  To-night,  the  night 
when  he  meant  to  woo  from  the  secret  depths  of  her  soul  the  evidence 
of  her  love  for  him,  when  he  meant  to  touch  her  lips  at  last  to  his, 
to  feel  her  heart  beating  against  his  own,  weak  and  famished, 


304  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

which  had  never  known  the  love  of  woman,  the  desire  to  be  true 
to  her,  to  strike  down  the  damnable  lie  in  which  he  moved,  became 
maddening. 

Why !  even  this  poor  hostler  took  up  the  burden  laid  on  him 
— dared,  owning  himself  black,  and  a  slave,  to  find  out  a  heroic 
use  for  his  life  !  He  did  not  patch  it  into  a  miserable  sham,  a  peril 
ous  imitation  of  the  white  man's.  ,' 

He  stood  looking  through  the  shadow  at  the  little  room,  the  cen 
tre  of  light  and  color,  from  which  issued  a  strain  of  soft,  enervating 
music.  Another  voice  made  itself  audible  in  it.  Why  should  he 
sacrifice  her  life  and  his  own  to  a  morbid  scruple  ?  He  was  safe  ; 
the  danger,  averted  to-night,  was  gone  forever.  Why  should  he 
voluntarily  drag  the  fate  of  his  race  upon  him?  Why?  There 
was  no  hope  that  she  would  marry  him  knowing  what  he  was. 
The  instinct  that  held  the  races  apart  was  unconquerable,  and  in 
no  one  had  he  known  it  stronger  than  in  Miss  Conrad. 

For  one  moment  Broderip  stood  motionless,  his  back  to  the  dis 
tant  light,  looking  at  the  sleeper  before  him.  In  that  moment  the 
two  paths  of  life  opened  clearly  before  him,  and  he  made  his  choice. 
He  looked  up  quietly.  "  Better  be  Sap  in  the  shambles,"  he  said, 
"than  the  trickster  I  have  made  of  John  Broderip." 

Stopping  by  the  lamp  as  he  passed  it,  he  drew  out  from  his 
breast  the  string  of  rose-colored  shells  which  Margaret  had  given 
him.  How  pure  and  clean  they  were !  That  first  morning  they 
had  seemed  fitting  to  her,  he  thought ;  since  he  knew  her  longer,  in 
God's  earth  he  thought  there  was  nothing  so  pure  and  true  as  she ; 
she  had  given  them  to  him.  He  opened  his  jacket  and  laid  them 
in  their  hiding-place  again,  with  a  pleased  smile,  such  as  a  child 
might  give.  "  No  matter  what  color  God  gave  me,  I'll  make  my 
self  fit  to  keep  her  gift,"  he  said,  as  he  buttoned  the  gray  coat,  and, 
pushing  back  the  hair  from  his  damp  forehead,  went  out  through 
the  dimmed  and  quieted  room  to  find  her.  The  little  gift  was  all 
that  belonged  to  her  which  he  should  ever  possess,  he  thought ;  yet 
he  went  out  with  his  usual  quiet,  grave  step,  and  head  uplifted. 

Having  touched   shore,  whatever  of  this  life's  hope  might  be 

taken  fiom  him  to-night  forever,  the  lie  in  which  he  had  lived  was 

gone,  and  his  feet  were  firm.     Black  or  white — Margaret  his  wife 

<rX,      or  taken  from  him — these  he  felt  were  outside  trifles;  in  his  soul 

he  faced  God,  at  last,  an  honest  man. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

ISHMAEL. 

DOCTOR  BRODERIP'S  few  guests  were  gathered  in  the 
music-room  when  he  entered  and  stood  silently  behind  Mr. 
Conrad'*  chair.  There  were  cheerful  lights  and  cheerful  faces; 
two  or  three  middle-aged  men  and  women,  who,  having  been  once 
elected  the  surgeon's  friends,  had  the  freedom  of  his  house,  and 
used  it  as  their  own.  The  air  was  moved  by  a  low  voice,  sobbing 
out  in  a  tone  that  hardly  broke  its  silence — a  lament  full  of  un 
hopeful,  fitful  complaint ;  one  of  those  simple  little  airs  which  seem 
to  hold  the  sad  secret  of  every  soul,  and  utter  it  audibly.  Even 
old  Conrad's  blind  eyes  were  closed  under  their  spectacles,  and  his 
clean-shaven  jaws  were  a  trifle  paler  as  he  listened.  But  Margaret, 
with  Phil  beside  her,  beat  regular  time  to  all  its  moaning,  with  her 
firm  fingers  on  his  freckled  little  hand. 

Broderip,  greeting  them  all  when  the  song  was  over  with  his 
usual  ceremonious  mannerism,  passed  her  with  a  bow,  without 
looking  up,  his  lips  moving  but  making  no  sound.  During  the 
gong  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  they  stood  alone  in  the  world  to 
gether  ;  that  that  terrible  cry  had  torn  out  the  secret  of  his  love 
and  showed  it  to  her;  and  his  heart  beat  naked,  feeble  and 
ashamed  before  her.  When  the  necessary  civil  words  were  said, 
and  they  began  to  scatter  in  groups  through  the  rooms,  he  stopped 
again  by  Mr.  Conrad,  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"A  poor  negro  patient,  Robert  told  us,  detained  you?"  turning 
his  head  back.  "  I  hope  you  were  able  to  satisfy  him  ?  " 

"  I  relieved  the  physical  pain,"  in  a  dry,  unnatural  tone.  "  To 
morrow  I  will  give  him  more  effectual  aid."  He  took  up  a  goblet 
of  water,  and  drank  it. 

Mr.  Conrad  turned  quickly,  and  put  his  hand  on  the  then  feverish 
wrist  resting  on  his  chair.  "  You  are  ill,  Broderip." 

"  No ;  I  never  felt  stronger  in  body  than  to-night." 

But  the  old  man's  blind  face  still  turned  on  him  with  the  sagacity 
of  a  listening  hound,  lie  made  no  comment,  however,  but  leaving 
him  presently,  went  into  the  library,  where  Phil  was  turning  ovei 
for  Margaret  a  portfolio  of  engravings,  and,  nodding  back  to  where 
the  surgeon  stood,  whispered  anxiously, 

"  What  trouble  is  in  his  face,  Meg  ?  " 
20 


306  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Miss  Conrad  frowned  impatiently,  but  did  not  lift  her  eyes. 
"  None,"  she  said,  dryly,  "  but  dyspepsia,  and  the  unhappiness  of  a 
man  who  is  not  sure  of  himself." 

"  So  ?  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  you've  a  keen  eye,  and  your  feel 
ings  don't  blind  you,"  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness.  "  You'd  turn 
the  black  spot  in  your  father's  or  lover's  heart  to  the  light  as  coolly 
as  that  of  your  enemy;  and  your  own,  to  be  just  to  you,  Meg." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  the  wide  mouth  was  set  more  firmly,  and 
the  eyes  grew  gray.  "  I  am  not  a  hard  woman,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"Now  that  man's  wiry,  sharp  voice  to-night,"  continued  her 
father,  disregarding  her,  "  may  seem  ordinary  to  you,  but  it's  the 
cry  of  one  going  down  into  deep  waters  to  me.  If  it  was  any  other 
man  I'd  offer  my  help.  I've  dragged  in  many  a  poor  fellow  ashore 
out  of  the  slough — money  troubles,  or  character  gone — or  them, 
tidin'  out  into  the  black  sea,  away  from  Christ,  and  the  under-tow 
•f\  gating  stronger  and  stronger.  Under  God,  I've  dragged  them  in." 

"  Why  do  you  not  offer  your  help  now,  then  ?  " 

Conrad  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  no,"  with  an 
anxious  distress  in  his  good-tempered,  vigilant  face.  When  Brod- 
erip  followed  him,  and  came  up  beside  them,  he  said  nothing,  only 
laid  his  heavy  hand  on  the  stooped  shoulder.  Miss  Conrad  did  not 
turn  her  head.  As  she  bent  over  the  table  or  stood  erect  again,  the 
folds  of  her  dress  swept  against  him.  When  he  had  curbed  and 
denied  himself  for  life,  as  he  thought  an  hour  ago,  he  had  not 
counted  on  the  reaction  of  seeing  her  again.  He  stood  looking  at 
her  until  the  blood  rose  into  her  throat  and  face,  and  she  turned 
with  a  shy,  conscious  smile.  His  own  face  was  grave  and  unan- 
swering,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  He  could  have  dragged 
her  up  where  she  stooped  before  him  into  his  breast,  never  to  loose 
her  again. 

"Will  you  take  my  place  as  host,  Mr.  Conrad,  and  suffer  me  to 
see  your  daughter  alone  ?  "  he  said,  gravely. 

"  Surely,  surely ;  she  will  go  with  you,  Doctor  Broderip,"  grave* 
ly.  There  was  something  more  than  the  tremor  of  a  lover  here. 
"  Come  Phil,  let  us  find  these  people,"  leaving  them  alone. 

Broderip  led  her  across  the  room  to  an  open  gallery.  His  hand 
was  on  her  arm  ;  how  white  it  was — white.  His  was  another  color ! 
A  few  hours  back  and  this  woman  was  as  part  of  himself;  he  was 
going  to  build  a  barrier  between  them  which  not  even  death  could 
destroy. 

The  gallery  which  they  had  entered  was  but  a  narrow  porch, 
shut  off  from  the  gardens  by  lattice-work ;  he  stopped  at  a  door 
opening  out,  and  let  her  arm  fall,  shivering  from  the  contact. 
"  Will  you  come  outside  ?  "  he  said.  "  There  is  an  impure  smell  in 
doors,  I  fancy,  to-night,  and  the  fresh  air  is  better  for  a  sickly 
Btory  such  as  I  must  tell  you,  Miss  Conrad." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  307 

"  I  am  willing,"  she  replied.  But- neither  moved.  Outside  they 
would  have  lost  sight  of  each  other's  face.  A  lamp  which  hung  in 
the  roof  above  swung  to  and  fro,  in  the  cool  night  wind  that  rushed 
past  them  through  the  open  door,  throwing  broad,  flickering  shad 
ows  on  the  floor.  Miss  Conrad  bent  forward  ;  there  was  no  shy 
consciousness  now  in  her  face;  she  knew  it  was  no  whisper  of  love 
she  had  come  to  hear ;  the  woman  within  her,  whom  no  one,  with 
all  her  surface  bluntness,  ever  had  known,  looked  out  now  from 
her  strongly-marked  features  and  gray,  probing  eyes,  ready  for  her 
trial.  But  the  gray  eyes  were  moist  and  brilliant,  the  lips  tender, 
the  breath  milky  sweet  that  heaved  her  breast.  Broderip  saw 
nothing  more.  He  stooped  and  took  up  one  of  her  hands,  looked 
at  it  as  he  might  at  a  holy  relic,  and  let  it  fall  gently.  What  would 
she  say  when  she  heard  his  story  ?  She  was  stronger  than  other 
women,  if  love  could  conquer  prejudice. 

Then  he  cursed  himself  for  the  hope ;  a  feeble,  maudlin  hope,  and 
that  he  knew. 

In  the  moment  they  were  there,  one  or  two  men  inside  noticed 
the  surgeon's  small  figure  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  his  lean,  sin 
gular  face  photographed  yellow  and  sharp  against  the  night,  under 
his  broad-rimmed  hat.  "  A  man  to  whom  fortune  had  been  per 
versely  kind,"  they  said,  looking  at  the  beautiful  woman  beside  him. 

"  We  will  go  out,"  he  said  to  her,  in  the  same  dry,  hard  tone, 
leading  the  way.  He  did  not  offer  her  his  hand;  even  avoided 
looking  at  her  again.  All  the  hunger  and  passion  starved  through 
his  life  rose  in  that  hour,  and  fought  against  the  resolution  with 
which  he  had  bound  himself,  as  Samson  against  the  green  withs. 

There  was  but  a  low,  half-moon  that  night,  and  the  light  it  made 
on  the  wide  spaces  without  was  faint,  and  the  shadows  heavy. 
Even  the  flag  on  the  peaked  roof  over  their  heads  fluttered  dim  and 
unreal  in  the  grayish-blue  air.  He  led  her  to  an  open,  grassy  flat, 
where  the  light  fell  clearest,  standing  with  his  own  face  toward  it, 
however,  and  hers  in  shadow,  thinking  that  she  would  choose  it  so. 
But  she  sat  down  on  a  cedar  stump,  and  drew  her  shawl  closer  over 
her  broad  shoulders,  turning  her  face  barely  up  to  his.  He  saw 
there  what  he  had  never  seen  before.  She  had  been  inscrutable  to 
him  hitherto,  but  he  knew  now  that  the  key  was  in  the  lock,  and 
his  hand  upon  the  key. 

"  Once  before,  Miss  Conrad,  I  asked  you  to  listen  to  a  story  I 
wished  to  tell  you." 

"  I  know,"  quietly. 

"  You  know  what  it  was  ?     You  knew,  then,  perhaps  ?" 

She  did  not  blush;  but  she  pushed  the  hair  from  off  her  temples 
With  both  her  hands,  her  eyes  avoiding  his,  her  breath  coming 
quick  and  hard. 

"  It  was  in  that  little  flower-closet,  yonder,"  pointing  to  where 


808  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

the  light  and  colors  of  the  greenhouse  shone  hazily  in  the  prevail 
ing  dulness.  "  There.  I  have  gone  into  it  sometimes  as  if  it 
were  holy  ground,  since  that  night.  To  save  me.  Because  I  meant 
to  take  on  myself  a  lie  for  life." 

She  looked  at  him  now.  "  You  intended,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  to 
tell  me  that  night  that  you  loved  me.  That  was  no  lie ;  you  never 
were  so  true  a  man  as  when  you  loved  me  best." 

"No,  Margaret,"  with  a  patient,  sad  smile.  "And  I  never  loved 
you  so  well,  or  was  so  near  to  reaching  the  manhood  for  which  I 
have  been  struggling  all  my  life,  as  to-night,. when  I  mean  to  put 
you  from  me." 

"  There  is  one  word  which  it  is  but  just  for  me  to  say,"  said  Miss 
Conrad,  earnestly,  rising  and  standing  before  him.  "The  answer 
I  would  have  given  you  then,  I  would  give  you  now.  No  action 
or  word  of  yours  since ;  no  " — she  hesitated — "  no  fact  of  your 
past  life  can  change  my  feeling  toward  you." 

He  made  a  step  forward,  with  breathless  lips,  and  eyes  that 
lighted  dangerously,  then  drew  back,  raising  his  hand  to  command 
silence.  She  drew  back,  astonished  and  pale.  Whether  she  had 
loved  or  merely  borne  with  John  Broderip,  she  had  been  used  to 
regard  him  as  weak-willed,  akin  to  hysteric  women;  but  she  faced 
now  the  pain  and  decision  of  a  stronger  man  than  she  had  evei 
known,  and  it  cowed  her. 

"  Do  not  tell  me  what  your  feeling  for  me  was.  No  matter  what 
the  knowledge  would  be  to  me;  some  day  you  would  bitterly 
regret  that  I  possessed  it." 

She  did  not  reply.  The  wind  blew  gustily  past,  flapping  the 
spectral  flag  overhead.  His  voice,  strangely  altered,  broke  the 
silence.  "I  think  you  surmise  what  my  history  is,  Miss  Conrad,  or 
you  would  not  have  hastened  to  hold  out  a  helping  hand  to-night." 

"I  do,  Doctor  Broderip,"  in  a  low  voice.  "I  have  done  so  since 
I  first  knew  you.  I  think  that  at  one  time  in  your  life  you  com 
mitted  a  crime.  There  have  been  times  when  I  knew  the  story 
was  on  your  lips  to  tell  me.  I  always  knew  that  the  day  would 
come  when  you  would  trust  me,  and  I  should  hear  it."  She  held 
out  her  hands,  looking  up  at  him.  He  took  them ;  they  slept  in 
his  with  an  utter  quiet  and  trust;  he  stooped,  his  hot  breath 
touched  her  forehead. 

"Margaret,  if  I  came  to  you  now,  guilty,  you  would  not  take 
your  hands  from  mine?  Stay,"  when  she  would  have  spoken. 
"Think  one  moment  before  you  answer  me." 

Because  she  saw  in  his  face  that  the  decisive  moment  of  life  for 
both  of  them  had  come,  Miss  Conrad's  breath  grew  cool  and  even, 
and  she  met  his  eye  with  the  straightforward  bluntness  of  a  man. 
When  the  time  comes  for  her  to  die  it  is  probable  she  will  be  most 
moderate  and  composed. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  309 

"I  am  no  judge.  Whether  I  loved  or  pitied  a  man,  no  guilt  of 
his  would  change  me,"  she  said;  then  stopping  a  moment,  she 
added,  as  if  the  words  were  wrung,  from  her  lips  one  by  one,  "  If  1^ 
had  heen  a  man,  and  that  side  of  my  nature  which  has  been  kept 
hidden  had  been  brought  into  temptation,  Doctor  Broderip,  there 
is  no  crime  which  I  could  not  have  committed.  None." 

Her  pure,  noble  face  grew  colorless  as  she  said  it,  and  she  struck 
her  breast  as  if  she  would  have  bared  to  him  whatever  foul  possi 
bilities  lay  there,  known  only  to  God  and  herself. 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her,  the  pale,  austere  face  in  the 
shadow  of  the  broad  shovel  hat  he  wore.  "  You  are  honester  than 
other  women,  and  stronger.  Your  strength  has  made  me  fancy 
that  you  would  break  down  the  barrier  between  us.  But  that  was 
folly.  You  will  at  least  speak  truth  to  me." 

She  put  her  hand  up  to  her  dry  lips.  "  I  will  speak  the  truth. 
What  is  the  barrier?" 

His  self-control  curiously  returned  to  him.  "  Come  with  me,  I 
have  something  to  show  you.  I  will  tell  you  as  we  go,"  bending 
courteously  as  he  walked  beside  her  along  the  narrow  path. 

"  I  have  committed  no  crime,  Miss  Conrad.  My  fault  lies  in 
that  I  was  born  below  the  level  of  humanity.  What  other  men 
do  from  belief  in  God,  I  did  to  raise  myself  to  their  starting-point. 
I  have  worked  hard  to  keep  myself  clean.  I  hoped,"  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  "  to  slough  off  the  animal  some  day,  and  bring  the  man  out 
from  it." 

"  There  is  no  poverty  of  birth,  nor  hereditary  vice  which  could 
warrant  such  words,"  she  said,  sharply. 

Broderip  smiled.  They  stopped  at  a  door  leading  into  the  oper 
ating-room.  He  opened  it.  Nat  lay  asleep  under  the  dully-burn 
ing  gas-light. 

He  looked  at  her,  drawing  a  long  breath,  as  a  man  might  who 
turns  from  the  shore,  and  goes  down  into  the  unknown  sea  never  to 
return. 

"  It  was  a  poor  birth,  yes.  But  there  was  no  hereditary  vice. 
My  parents  were  clean,  honest,  pious  Methodists.  But  they  were 
black.  The  man  lying  yonder  is  my  brother."  He  stopped,  rais 
ing  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  What  he  is,  Miss  Conrad,  I  am. 
On  the  first  of  the  year,  a  freed  slave.  Nothing  more." 

She  neither  spoke  nor  moved;  although  she  stood  close  beside 
him,  her  face  was  hidden  from  him  by  her  position.  He  waited ; 
the  folds  of  her  dress  and  heavy  shawl  were  still  as  if  she  had  been 
a  statue. 

"  Margaret !  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  which  hung  by  her  side.  It  was  cold ; 
a  shiver  crept  over  her  powerful  frame  as  he  touched  her.  When 
she  turned  her  head,  her  eyes  were  dull,  and  her  face  stony. 


810  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

The  door  was  closed  on  him. 

"  Nathan  !  Nathan  !  "  he  cried,  in  a  shrill,  rasping  voice.  "  I 
have  my  brother,  I  have  my  own  people ! "  fiercely  pushing  down 
her  hand  that  grasped  him.  "I  would  have  married  you  if  you 
had  been  a  fiend  from  hell !  " 

Miss  Conrad  stood  quiet ;  she  saw  that  she  was  alone  after  a  mo 
ment,  and  discerned  his  thin,  dark  figure  in  the  dusky  light,  lean 
ing  against  a  stone  wall  that  barred  in  the  grounds.  Whether  she 
suffered  any  pain  beyond  pity,  as  she  stood  there  afterward,  look 
ing  into  the  dully  lighted  room  at  the  sleeping  mulatto,  only  Mar 
garet  Conrad  ever  will  know.  It  was  a  long  time  before  she  went 
to  him. 

"  Doctor  Broderip,  I  promised  to  speak  truth  to  you,"  tapping 
gently  on  his  shoulder. 

He  turned,  a  sad,  half-smiling  patience  on  his  face,  which  after 
ward  strengthened  into  its  habitual  expression. 

"  I  pray  you  to  accept  this  disappointment  with  composure.  We 
all  have  some  cross  of  circumstance  to  bear.  I  would  not  whimper 
under  mine,"  with  her  old  motion  of  putting  her  fingers  on  her 
blue,  cold  lips. 

"  You  shouldered  yours  bravely,"  seeing  that  he  did  not  speak. 
"  It  was  a  man's  action — a  man's — and  I  honor  it.  But  the  gulf 
between  us  is  one  which  God  never  intended  to  be  crossed." 

Already  he  perceived  there  was  the  gentle  quality  in  her  tone  of 
one  who  makes  an  explanation  to  her  inferior. 

"  The  prejudice  against  the  black  blood  seems  senseless  to  you, 
Doctor  Broderip,  but  I  would  have  to  let  my  own  out,  drop  by 
drop,  before  I  could  eradicate  it,"  with  vehemence.  "  It  is  a  thing 
which  will  exist  while  the  two  races  endure.  I  cannot  fight  against 
nature." 

"  No,  Margaret."  It  was  noticeable  that  since  he  had  come  out 
from  his  long-worn  lie  he  had  called  her  by  her  first  name ;  his 
tone  had  been  that  of  one  who  stood  on  level  ground  with  her. 

"  It  is  better  we  should  not  meet  again,"  she  said. 

"  Yes."  He  looked  from  her  down  the  long,  vacant  strip  of 
road  that  ran  from  the  wall  straight  before  him.  Good  God !  how 

vacant  it  was  !     And  long — long.     Different  from And  then 

for  a  few  moments  he  ceased  to  wonder  or  to  think,  and  stood  quite 
quiet,  his  mouth  resting  on  the  hand  that  clasped  the  rough  stone. 
When  he  looked  up  she  was  watching  him,  her  large  figure  drawn 
to  its  full  height,  her  face  bloodless,  and  her  burning  eyes,  he 
fancied,  accusing  and  implacable.  Was  there  any  irreparable  hurt 
which  he  could  have  given  to  this  strong-bodied,  moderate-minded 
woman?  He  put  the  idle  fa^ncy  from  him. 

He  drew  out  the  string  of  shells  she  had  given  him,  holding 
them  up  in  the  faint  light  before  handing  them  to  her,  as  a  mother 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  311 

might  look  at  the  toys  of  her  dead  child.  "  The  day  you  put  these 
in  my  hand,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  thought  that  it  only  needed  the 
love  of  such  a  woman  as  you  were,  Margaret,  to  complete  my  work  ; 
to  wipe  out  all  traces  of  the  brute,  and  make  a  true  man  of  me. 
He  paused ;  there  was  a  long  silence,  in  which  she  watched  him 
with  the  same  stunned,  unforgiving  stare,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  shells,  that  quivered  and  shook  with  a  delicate  pink  light  as 
he  moved  them.  "  There  is  not  one  of  them,"  in  the  same  subdued 
voice,  passing  his  finger  over  them  slowly,  "  not  one  of  them  that 
has  not  been  to  me  the  symbol  of  a  thousand  beautiful  and  tender 
hopes  of  that  better  life  which  I  hoped  some  day  to  gain.  They 
are  all  over  now." 

He  let  them  fall  into  his  palm,  where  they  shone  with  a  soft 
shimmer,  and  held  them  out  to  her.  She  looked  at  him  steadily  a 
moment,  and  then  put  them  back.  "  Let  them  be  a  sign  to  you 
still.  I  will  not  take  them  back." 

He  did  not  understand  her,  but  he  thrust  the  silly  toy  away 
eagerly,  as  if  something  yet  remained  to  him.  There  was  a  step 
on  the  grass  and  a  voice  humming  some  street  song,  and  calling 
Broderip  at  intervals. 

"Where  are  you  hiding,  eh?"  demanded  Ottley,  clapping  him 
on  the  shoulder.  "Matters  are  stagnant  indoors.  You  are  going, 
Miss  Conrad?" 

"  It  is  late ;  it  is  time  my  father  was  gone."  She  looked  at 
Broderip.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  stood  uncovered.  He  thought  that 
she  would  have  held  out  her  hand ;  but  she  did  not,  and  neither  of 
them  said  a  word  of  farewell.  But  her  eyes  met  his  for  a  moment, 
and  she  turned  and  wrent  from  them.  Ottley  stood  rubbing  his  fat 
little  hands,  glancing  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  troubled  face. 

"  Can  I  help  you,  Broderip  ?  "  he  said,  gently,  a  while  after. 

"  Yes,"  in  a  grave,  composed  tone,  which  surprised  him.  "  I  have 
been  playing  a  miserable  part,  and  it  is  time  to  lay  it  aside.  There 
is  a  man  asleep  in  yonder  room  who  is  my  brother.  That  will  tell 
you  the  whole  story,  Ottley.  Out  of  regard  to  the  old  friendship 
we  have  had,  will  you  make  it  known  for  me  ?  I  would  be  glad  if 
the  meanest  servant  in  my  house  would  know  my  history  to-night. 
Will  you  leave  me  alone,  now,  Ottley  ?  " 

Ottley  took  his  hand  and  wrenched  it,  but  Broderip  neither  felt 
him  nor  saw  him  go.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  woman's  figure 
that  paused  in  the  lighted  door.  But  without  a  look  back-turned 
she  went  in  and  closed  it  after  her. 

"  Good  night,  Margaret,"  he  whispered,  and  leaning  on  the  wall 
looked  steadily  through  the  night  into  the  vacant  road. 


312  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE     COST     OF     VICTORY. 

"WHAT  you  agoin' to  do  now,  suh?"  asked  Nat,  timidly,  liis 
eyes  wandering  over  the  delicate  china  and  glittering  service,  for 
the  brothers  had  breakfasted  together.  Doctor  Broderip  glanced 
out  into  the  pleasant  morning,  and  back  again.  What  was  he  going 
to  do  ?  The  question  was  not  so  easy  to  answer.  For  the  battle 
had  been  fought ;  the  victory  won.  Now,  what  remained  ? 

Miss  Conrad  had  stated  the  answer  barely  enough  a  few  hours 
before.  She  came  down  to  her  father  in  her  most  royally  sweeping 
purple  robe,  her  black  hair  braided  in  a  coronet  about  her  head ; 
but  the  lynx-eared  old  man  fancied  that  neither  sleep  nor  tears  had 
softened  her  eyes  since  the  night  before.  "Margaret,"  he  said, 
abruptly,  "  I  am  going  to  Broderip." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.     "For  what  purpose?" 

"  I  thought " — sopping  his  forehead  with  his  bandanna  handker 
chief— "I  thought — God  knows,  Meg,  now's  the  time  to  stand  by 
him.  I  reckon  you  have  not  forgotten  what  we  owe  to  him." 

"  It  is  not  gratitude  he  asks,"  with  whitening  lips,  but  pouring 
out  his  coffee  with  a  steady  hand. 

"I  reckon  old  Hugh  Conrad's  face  is  but  little  known  here,  but 
it  is  a  white  one,  and  I  mean  to  go  with  him  to-day  to  his  hospitals 
and  patients.  The  story  is  public  already,  and  there  may  be 
askance  looks  or  innuendoes  from  which  I  can  shield  him." 

She  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  the  gray  eyes  dull  in  the  white  face, 

•     pressing  her  broad  palms  together ;  but  he  could  not   see  her,  and 

her  voice  was  resolute  and  cold,  as  usual.     "  Who  pauses  to  make 

innuendoes   to   a   mulatto  ?     You   do   not   understand   what    this 

man  is." 

"  Your  comprehension  was  quick  enough,  Meg,"  bitterly.  The 
taunt  fell  as  if  on  steel ;  she  went  through  her  part  unmoved. 

"  Father,  it  is  as  well  this  matter  should  be  set  clearly  before  us 
from  the  first.  John  Broderip  is  the  son  of  a  negro ;  there  is  not 
one  of  his  hospitals  or  patients  to-day  would  open  their  doors  to 
him,  if  he  assumed  his  old  place ;  there  is  not  a  club,  church,  the 
atre  or  restaurant  from  which  he  would  not  be  ejected  like  a  felon ; 
the  academies  of  science  or  art,  where  he  was  a  director,  would  ad 
mit  him  only  if  he  came  as  the  servant  of  a  white  child;  if  he  put 
a  foot  into  one  of  these  street-cars  he  would  be  thrust  out  with  in 
sult.  No  white  man  or  woman  would  receive  him  to  their  table. 
If  he  married  there  would  be  no  citizenship  for  him,  no  honor  for 
his  wife,  no  education  for  his  children.  They  are  the  one  class 
which  the  law  and  the  white  man  are  privileged  to  trample  under 
foot."  She  had  laid  her  hands  on  the  back  of  a  ohair;  the  words 
came  slowly  at  the  last,  as  if  strength  or  reason  lagged. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  313 

"You  exaggerate,  Margaret,"  -said  Conrad,  rising.  "John 
Broderip  cursed  to  a  fate  like  that !  You  talk  like  a  woman  !  " 

"  Because  I  have  not  the  eyes  of  a  man.  You  have  been  blind  to 
all  that  was  before  you.  He  will  but  share  the  fate  of  other  mu- 
lattoes  in  this  city — in  all  the  North — as  wealthy,  cultured,  sensitive 
as  he." 

"  When  did  you  cry  out  with  pity  for  them  before,  Margaret  ?  " 

She  drew  herself  to  her  full  height.  "  I  have  no  pity.  The  negro 

blood "  The  white,  powerful  limbs  began  to  shiver  and  tremble, 

as  she  put  out  one  hand  blindly,  and  caught  by  the  wall.  "  The  negro 
blood  is — is  abhorrent  to  me.  I  have  broken  silence  on  this  mat 
ter  to-day,  father,  that  you  may  never  broach  it  again  ; "  and  then 
she  slowly  dragged  herself  from  the  room,  while  the  old  man  as 
sternly  made  ready  to  go  to  his  friend. 

"Meg's  pithy,"  he  muttered.  "But,  time  will  tell — time  will 
tell ! " 

John  Broderip,  alone  with  Nathan,  did  not  need  to  hear  Miss 
Conrad's  mapping  out  of  his  life.  He  knew  that.  The  knowledge 
and  skill  acquired  in  all  these  patient  years  lay  dead  weight  in  his 
hands  to-day.  Already  some  whispers  of  the  absolute  change 
waiting  for  him  had  penetrated  indoors ;  covert  insults  from  his 
servants,  with  a  quiet  assumption  of  superiority  from  the  meanest 
of  them.  Miserable  straws  he  might  have  called  the  signs  of  con 
tempt  of  the  whites  which  she  threatened.  Yet  the  wind  that  blew 
them  was  unconquerable  and  deadly.  The  strength  and  hope  of 
many  a  struggling  half-breed  in  the  north  had  withered  in  it.  He 
got  up  unsteadily,  going  to  the  broad  sunshine  of  a  window,  look 
ing  back  at  the  rooms,  each  of  which  it  had  been  his  hobby  to  form 
into  a  picture  of  form  and  color.  What  should  he  do  with  these 
treasures  of  luxury  or  art  in  this  intolerable  solitude  to  which  he 
was  hereafter  condemned  ?  What  should  he  do  with  the  habits 
and  tastes  which  he  had  painfully  gained?  He  looked  at  the  yel 
low  skin  of  his  wrist  with  a  fierce  loathing.  It  was  an  iron  mask, 
that  shut  him  in  from  all  the  hopes,  the  ambitions,  the  enjoyments 
of  other  men. 

Nat  had  shambled  closely  after  him,  in  his  eager  wish  to  be 
respectful,  and  sat  awed  and  embarrassed  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 
The  brother  he  had  found  oppressed  him  with  a  sense  of  inferiority 
as  no  master  had  ever  done.  It  was  not  Sap,  from  the  stables.  So 
Nat's  heart  went  back,  with  a  fresh  sense  of  loneliness,  to  Anny 
and  the  boy.  Broderip  watched,  speculatively,  the  bald,  uncouth 
little  man,  with  his  cowed,  homesick  face,  who  had  been  drinking 
all  of  his  life  the  bitter  cup  which  he  had  raised  to-day  to  his  lips. 
"How  have  they  borne  it?"  he  said.  "They  have  neither  phi 
losophy,  nor  records  of  a  great  past,  nor  coherence  to  work  for  a 
place  am  wg  nations,  as  other  oppressed  people  have  had." 


314  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Dey's  got  trust  in  de  Lord,"  shrewdly  catching  his  meaning. 
"  Dar's  no  whites  like  'em  for  dat." 

"  In  the  Lord  ? "  Broderip  scowled  up  into  the  dark  blue 
heaven  as  he  turned.  Last  night  he  had  served  this  God,  if  never 
before  ;  he  had  fought  the  good  fight — striven  to  be  a  true  man ; 
the  result  of  it  was  that  he  proved  his  soul  to  be  barred  down  into 
an  accursed  body ;  every  means  by  which  manhood  had  growth 
closed  to  him.  All  through  his  educated  life  he  had  clung  with  a 
childish  belief  to  some  justice  beyond  man 's  law,  which  should 
give  to  him  and  his  people  recompense  at  last.  Now  he  had  tested 
it.  On  this  morning,  when  this  world  which  he  had  made  for  him 
self  crumbled  around  him,  no  loss  was  so  great  as  that  of  this 
shadow  to  the  poor  gambler  and  scoffer. 

He  stood,  his  hands  behind  him,  his  quiet,  questioning  look  of 
challenge  still  turned  to  the  sky,  when  Nat  spoke  to  him.  "  D'ye 
think,  suh,  de  Gov'ment  '11  give  us  a  chance  to  go  in  de  army  ?  " 

"  Of  what  use  would  it  be  ?"  savagely.  "Four  millions  of  cow 
ards,  who  have  held  their  necks  under  the  yoke  so  long  without  a 
struggle,  are  not  likely  to  fight  for  freedom  now,  or  use  it  when 
gained." 

Nat  drummed  his  fingers  on  his  knees,  and  coughed  anxiously. 
"  I  donno,  suh,"  he  ventured  at  last.  "  Dey  neber  know'd  dey  was 
so  great  a  people ;  de  slave  in  M's  Jeems'  plantation  neber  had  no 
way  ob  touchin'  de  slave  in  Georgy.  'Pears  to  me  when  dey  kin 
speak  to  each  oder  by  newspapers  an'  books,  like  de  white  men, 
dey'll  feel  dere  strength,  an'  use  it.  Like  de  dead  Lazarus,  suh," 
his  voice  rising :  "  him  felt  his  knees,  an'  his  arms,  an'  his  head 
tinglin'  like,  an'  know'd  he  was  a  whole  man ;  an'  den  de  blood 
begin  to  run  all  ober  de  body,  an'  he  rose  up  an'  come  out  ob  de 
grave  where  he  was  buried." 

Broderip  smiled.  "Who  would  have  thought  to  find  you  a 
political  economist,  Nat  ?  " 

"  I'se  much  obleeged,  suh,"  with  a  perplexed  look.  And  after  a 
while,  "  I  talked  to  de  cullored  people  whereber  de  regiment  or 
M's  Markle  trabelled.  Dar's  a  few  quiet  men  dat  tinks  dese  things 
ober,  an'  de  rest  toilers  dem,  like  ign'rant  sheep  afer  de  ram.  I 
tink,"  thoughtfully,  "  de  reason  dey  don't  help  work  for  dere  free 
dom  is  dey  don't  know  who  to  trust.  Dey  hears  dat  de  Yankees 
'11  sell  dem  down  inter  Cuba,  an'  as  fur  dere  ole  marsters — well, 
dey  knows  dem,"  with  a  laugh.  "  Dey'd  fight  like  debbils  under 
a  man  ob  dere  own  cullor,"  after  a  pause. 

Broderip  turned  sharply,  facing  him.  Nathan  bore  the  searching 
look  steadily.  There  was  a  meaning  in  the  faces  of  both  men 
which  never  had  been  put  into  words.  "Dey  calls  M's  Linkum 
Moses.  Moses  warn't  a  white  man,  an'  a  stranger,"  deliberately. 
"  He  wur  a  chile  ob  de  slave  woman,  an'  he  went  an'  stole  all  de 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  315 

Jearnin'  ob  his  masters,  an'  den  come  back  an'  took  his  people  cross 
de  riber  inter  freedom.  His  own  people,  sub." 

The  watchful  face  before  him  grew  slowly  peaked  and  gray,  the 
delicate  fingers  clenched  the  table-edge  like  a  vice,  the  thin  body 
swayed  to  and  fro,  but  there  was  speculation  in  the  hazel  eyes  fixed 
on  the  mulatto.  This  the  end  of  it?  To  leave  his  dainty  refine 
ment  of  life ;  to  give  up  Margaret,  in  order  to  become  a  leader 
among  the  filthy  black  swarms  of  Bedford  street,  or  of  the  fouler 
hordes  of  Southern  field-hands  ?  His  head  bent,  his  chin  resting 
on  his  breast.  Nathan  could  comprehend  the  nausea,  and  the  cold, 
beaded  sweat  in  the  face,  though  he  could  go  no  further. 

"  I  wish,  'fore  God,"  he  cried,  "  I'd  stayed  yander  in  Tennessee. 
I'se  only  fotched  y6u  down  alongside  ob  me,  an'  what's  de  use  ob 
dat  ?  You  wos  comf'ble  and  rich,  and  plenty  ob  frens;  and  we 
cvullored  people  kin  git  nothin' ;  'pears  as  if  God  and  man  had 
turned  agin  us." 

Which  words  were  like  a  lever  that  raised  the  other  half  of 
Broderip's  nature  to  the  surface,  as  he  thought  of  them.  The  color 
began  to  come  to  his  skin,  yellow  and  thick ;  the  brooding,  dan 
gerous  rebellion  of  the  mulatto  to  his  eyes.  He  paced  up  and 
down,  and  presently  stopped  before  Nat  again. 

"  Why  need  negroes  whine  for  God  or  man  to  help  them  ? 
White  men  help  themselves.  You  see  what  I  have  made  of  my 
self;  any  of  my  people  can  do  the  same." 

"You  wos  helped;  you  mean  to  help  dem?"  eagerly.  "You 
goin*  to  fight  for  dem,  suh  ?  " 

"  I  ? — I  ?  I  cannot  tell,  Nathan.  Sit  down ;  I  want  to  hear  all 
you  know  of — of  my  lather,"  and  the  two  men  sat  down  side  by 
side. 

Just  before  dusk  that  evening,  Ottley's  brisk,  fat  little  figure 
crossed  the  verandah,  and  entered  one  of  the  low  windows.  "The 
ramparts  are  scaled  at  last!"  shaking  both  of  Broderip's  hands 
with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  Conrad  is  behind  me.  We  have  been  at 
the  door  twenty  times  to-day,  with  a  dozen  others.  But  I  swore 
I'd  have  you  out  of  your  burrow.  Chilly  to-day,  eh  ?  Heard  the 
additional  news  from  Pocotaligo?  Bad!  bad!  Here's  Conrad," 
stepping  aside  with  a  flushed  face  to  make  way  for  the  old  man. 

"  You  are  kind,  gentlemen,"  said  Broderip,  with  a  stately  bow, 
his  trembling  hands  behind  him. 

"  Kindness  is  a  word  that  hasn't  much  meanin'  between  you  and 
me,"  said  Conrad,  simply,  sitting  down. 

"My  brother  is  here,"  but  turning  he  found,  with  a  secret  relief, 
that  Nat  had  disappeared. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Conrad?"  his  physician's  eye  awake 
on  the  instant  to  the  bilious  skin,  and  disordered  breathing. 

"How  can  I  tell?    The  liver,  I  suppose,  as  usual." 


316  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"A  glass  of  dry  wine,  now — "  his  hand  on  the  bell ;  he  stopped, 
turning  red  and  then  pale. 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Broderip.     I  am  run  down,  that's  true." 

"  Where  is  Robert  ?  "  blundered  Ottley,  as  a  black  face  appeared 
at  the  door. 

"  Gone.  The  servants  gave  warning  and  I  filled  my  house  with 
my  own  people.  The  poor  fools  gathered  round  me  with  an  ab 
surdly  clannish,  affectionate  pride,"  said  Broderip,  with  a  pleased, 
unsteady  laugh. 

"They'll   have   their   Bruce,  or   their  Tell— yet,"    said   Ottley. 
W^       "  Gad  !  what  a  hero  they'll  make  of  him  when  he  comes !  " 

"  I  have  no  heroic  ambitions,  yet  I  have  thought  of  doing  some 
thing  for  them.  My  road  is  blocked  on  every  other  side." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  Conrad  put  down  his  glass  and 
turned  his  watchful,  anxious  face  toward  the  younger  man. 

"  If  they — if  we,"  his  voice  growing  steadier,  "  were  allowed  to 
strike  a  blow  for  our  own  freedom,  I  would  feel  that  there  was  yet 
a  standing-ground,  and  work  for  me,  in  the  world." 

Ottley 's  tact  failed  him  in  this  strait.  Conrad  turned  away  from 
Broderip  with  a  look  of  half  envy.  "  It  is  so  seldom,"  he  said, 
gravely,  "  that  God  puts  such  a  chance  in  the  path  of  a  man  ! " 

"What  chance?" 

"  Not  worldly  greatness,  though  that's  included ;  but  to  be  the 
leader  of  a  great  people  out  of  slavery ;  out  of  the  ignorance  in 
which  they've  been  bound !  No  man's  work  is  so  high  as  that ;  it 
would  be  the  old  story  of  Greatheart  opening  the  dungeons  of 
Giant  Despair!"  with  smothered  fire  in  his  voice. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  the  way  will  be  opened  to  you,"  said  Ottley, 

who  was  by  this  time  master  of  the  dilemma.     "  Strong  pressure  is 

being  brought  on  the  President,  I  happen  to  know,  to  secure  the 

r  enlistment   of  colored    soldiers  ;    and   some    of  the   best   men    in 

New  York    and  Boston  are  crowding  forward  to   serve  as  their 

O 

leaders." 

"  It  is  not  their  place,"  said  Broderip,  sharply. 

"  But  there  are  so  few  colored  men  in  your  position,"  said  Con 
rad,  gently. 

."That  is  true!  that  is  true !"  with  a  pleased  flutter.  "I  have 
drudged  hard  and  long,  Mr.  Conrad;  it  is  only  just  that  some 
controlling  work  should  come  for  me,  and  that  it  should  be  for  my 
people." 

The  gulf  between  the  white  man  and  the  black  was  bridged 
over;  how,  it  did  not  occur  to  Broderip  to  question  until  they  had 
left  him  late  in  the  night.  Then  he  wondered  if  a  few  friendly 
,  words  could  have  so  changed  the  face  of  the  world  to  him.  He 
walked  about  restlessly,  thinking  of  the  four  millions  of  wronged, 
degraded  souls,  waiting  for  help.  The  work  which  he  had  turned 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  317 

from  with  loathing  in  the  morning  seemed  to  him  fit  only  for  the 
hands  of  the  pure,  holy  Christ.  Who  was  he  to  undertake  it  ? 

It  began  to  rain ;  a  slow,  steady  drizzle,  blotting  out  the  stars, 
and  giving  one  that  homelike,  indoors  feeling.  But  Broderip 
threw  open  the  door  into  the  outer  air,  as  if  stifling  for  breath. 
The  night  and  rain  seemed  to  keep  him  from  his  work  ;  his  head 
ached,  his  blood  burned  hot  and  strong.  To  think  of  the  years  in 
which  his  people  had  cried  for  help  in  vain,  of  the  souls  he  might 
have  led  into  daylight,  the  chains  he  might  have  loosed  with  his 
squandered  money !  His  old  father,  that  he  had  suffered  to  drag 
out  his  last  years  on  the  rations  of  a  toothless  dog  !  If  the  morn 
ing  and  his  work  would  but  come !  He  thought,  as  he  came  in,  and 
prepared  for  bed,  his  countenance  growing  simple  and  eager,  that 
it  was  almost  certain  that  Miss  Conrad  thought  his  coming  work 
as  noble  a  one  as  did  her  father.  And,  after  a  while,  lying  still  in 
the  darkness,  with  the  rain  beating  against  the  window,  he  won 
dered  whether,  when  the  work  was  done,  and  well  done,  and  he 
came  back,  white  men  would  still  remember  their  old  prejudice. 

Whether ?  and  a  slow,  tender  smile  gathered  on  his  face  before 

he  slept,  quietly  as  a  tired  boy. 

Going  home  that  evening,  Ottley  took  Mr.  Conrad  to  task. 
"Were  you  mad?  Broderip's  lungs  would  not  bear  a  single  cam 
paign." 

"  I  know  it.  But  the  plan  was  already  present  to  him  as 
drudgery.  I  only  spoke  truth,  when  I  lifted  it  into  heroism.  Good 
God,  sir,  the  man  was  like  a  healthy  animal  forced  into  an  ex 
hausted  receiver,  and  dying  for  want  of  air.  When  he  stood  up 
this  morning,  calling  himself  a  mulatto,  what  place  had  this  world 
kept  for  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  Hugh,  have  done  with  it !  I  can't  force  Broderip, 

in  my  own  mind,  into  a  negro.  If  I  could Let's  drop  the 

subject.  Nothing  has  so  upset  me  for  years.  I  confess  I  have  the 
prejudice  of  my  class.  Who  was  that  young  officer  with  you  this 
morning  ?  " 

"His  name  is  Markle." 

"A  friend  of  Margaret's,  eh?  I  fancied  it,"  anxiously,  for 
Ottley  took  an  interest  in  the  love  affairs  of  the  young  girls  about 
him,  and  was  eager  to  see  them  well  married. 

Mr.  Conrad's  face  grew  anxious  also.  "  No,"  he  said,  sharply, 
"  no."  For  he  could  not  so  soon  forget  that  all  the  world  had 
turned  its  back,  without  cause,  upon  the  little  man  in  gray,  yonder, 
and  that  it  had  fallen  to  Margaret's  lot  to  deal  to  him  the  hardest 
and  decisive  blow. 


318  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THE    TRUE    PRINCE. 

DURING  the  few  weeks  which  followed,  Ottley  was  unceasing  in 
his  attentions  to  the  wounded  young  Lieutenant.  He  was  apt  to 
hold  on  to  an  idea  obstinately;  and  once  having  made  up  his  mind 
that  Miss  Conrad's  and  Markle's  lives  would  run  smoothly  in  one 
groove, 'he  eagerly  set  about  clearing  the  way  to  do  it.  There  was 
a  change  in  the  girl  that  he  did  not  like:  she  sat  silently  at  her 
work,  looking  day  by  day  more  sallow  and  old :  there  was  a  fierce 
glitter  in  her  eye  new  to  it:  her  good-humored  bluntness  had 
become  bitter  and  aggressive. 

He  hinted  to  the  young  fellow  (with  whom  by  dint  of  his  persist 
ent  friendliness  he  had  become  intimate)  that  these  symptoms  were 
all  favorable  to  his  suit. 

"Women  are  the  most  deceptive  of  all  Nature's  handiworks." 
he  said.  "  When  the  husk  is  roughest  the  kernel,  maybe,  only  is 
hiding  its  sweetness  for  you" 

Markle  smiled,  doubtful  yet  pleased.  His  love,  he  thought, 
should  some  day  warm  and  mellow  her  life  as  the  sunshine  the 
fruit,  in  spite  of  herself. 

They  were  passing  Broderip's  grounds  at  the  time :  Ottley  came 
daily  to  drive  the  young  officer  out. 

"  I  would  give  much  to  meet  that  man,  Broderip,"  said  Markle 
suddenly.  "  There  are  some  words  which  it  would  be  better  for 
us  both  were  spoken  before  he  goes." 

Ottley  flecked  his  horse  with  the  whip  once  or  twice  with  an 
annoyed  look  before  speaking.  "  He  meets  few  strangers  now. 
I  contrived  that  it  should  be  so.  I  want  to  shield  him,  as  far  as  I 
can.  The  fact  is — frankly,  I  never  realized  until  in  his  case,  how 
deep  is  the  instinctive  revulsion  to  men  of  color  whan  they  threaten 
equality." 

"  It  is  damnably  unjust !  "  hotly. 

"  I  know  it,"  with  a  shrug.  "  But  what  can  you  do  ?  I  have  it. 
I  never  understood  either,  before,  how  it  reacts  on  them — how  even 
our  affability  to  a  man  like  Broderip  becomes  an  insult.  Most 
mulattoes,  if  you  notice,  have  a  guarded,  morbid  look  as  if  expecting 
a  blow  the  next  moment.  Yet  I  never  knew  the  Doctor  so  cheerful 
or  healthy  in  temper  as  now.  Well,"  in  answer  to  Markle's  in 
quiring  look,  "  I  suppose,  because  his  disguise  is  off.  When  a  man 
takes  up  his  ill  fate  and  makes  the  best  of  it,  it  generally  ends  by 
bringing  out  all  the  strength  that  is  in  him,  like  a  fellow  training 
with  a  weight.  Broderip  has  committed  himself  wholly  to  the 
cause  of  the  negroes.  He  has  been  collecting  and  drilling  them  to 
take  with  him  into  the  colored  regiments  which  are  being  mustered 
into  service  in  Carolina." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  319 

Markle  drew  a  long  breath.     "  He  gives  up  all  ties  here  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  old  Quakeress  who  educated  him,  and  a  boy  whom 
he  had  adopted,  he  has  provided  for  as  if  they  had  been  in  fact  his 
mother  and  son.  He  leaves  ample  funds  to  carry  on  his  many 
private  charities.  I  am  trustee.  I  think  it  cost  a  hard  struggle  to 
part  with  Phil,  but  it  was  better  for  the  child,  you  know.  I'll 
manage  that  it  shall  not  be  known  at  his  school  that  he  is  supported 
by  a  mulatto.  Boys  are  cruel  little  devils  to  jeer  each  other." 

Markle  gave  an  impatient  movement.  "Yes,  yes!  But  caste, 
prejudice — you  see.  Most  whites  argue  no  further  on  the  right  or 
wrong  of  the  question  than  to  say — *  a  nigger's  a  nigger.'  I  think 
Broderip  acted  rashly  in  cutting  every  tie  that  bound  him  to  them, 
and  throwing  his  lot  in  utterly  with  his  people." 

Markle  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  must  see  this  man,"  he  said 
resolutely,  "  I  don't  think  that  what  I  have  to  say  to  him  will 
seem  an  insult." 

"As  you  will,"  Ottley  replied  drylv.  "I  will  call  on  my  return 
and  tell  him  to  expect  you  this  afternoon."  He  did  so,  and,  anxious 
to  smooth  the  way  for  his  young  friend,  gave  Broderip  a  slightly 
exaggerated  sketch  of  his  bravery^  ability,  etc.,  adding  that  he  was 
an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Conrad's,  "and  something  more,  I  fancy,  of 
his  daughter's.  It  is  enough  as  you  know,  to  say  of  him  that  the 
old  Methodist  approves  him ;  for  he  is  as  cleanly  in  his  instincts  as 
one  of  his  own  greyhounds,  and  has  as  keen  a  scent  for  taint  in 
other  men." 

"  Yes." 

Broderip  was  fastening  a  print  in  its  frame  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  dismantled  wall.  He  did  not  look  up  from  it. 

"  He  will  be  here  to-day,  then,"  said  Ottley,  rising  and  pulling 
on  his  glove.  "Miss  Conrad  has  spoken  of  you  to  him,  doubtless. 

By  the  way,"  stopping  short,  "  there's  a  curious  likeness  between 
yours  and  Markle's  characters,  though  he  is  a  commonplace,  out 
spoken  fellow.  But  the  likeness  is  certainly  there.  It  may  have 
been  that  which  made  Margaret  so  friendly  with  you ;  eh  ?  So 
friendly  that  I  used  to  fancy  that  she  would  turn  the  heart  of  stone 
you  had  for  women  into  a  heart  of  flesh.  But  she  only  looked 
through  you  at  him,  probably." 

"It  is  probable."  Broderip  turned,  and  hung  the  print  upon 
the  wall  again,  and  stood,  not  looking  at  it, but  keeping  his  back  to 
Ottley.  It  was  a  coarse  engraving  of  Christ  bearing  the  cross, 
remarkable  in  that  the  painter,  instead  of  the  usual  face,  had  drawn 
one  homely  and  strong,  with  a  man's  passions, and  a  man's  triumph 
over  passion  in  it. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Ottley,  "  you  intended  leaving  only  cheerful, 
encouraging  pictures  on  the  wall  ?  But  perhaps  you  have  changed 
jfour  mind  about  giving  the  house  for  an  orphan  asylum?" 


320  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"No,  I  have  not  changed  my  mind." 

"That  is  not  the  idea  of  Christ  I  would  give  to  a  child,"  doubt 
fully,  "  there  is  more  of  the  man  than  the  God  in  it." 

Broderip  smiled.  "How  to  be  a  man — that's  what  we  want  to 
know — not  how  to  be  a  God." 

Ottley  told  Mr.  Conrad  afterward,  that  Broderip  looked  at  the 
picture  as  if  it  were  a  real  man  who  had  spoken  to, and  counselled 
him.  "I  always  thought,  if  Broderip  was  allured  into  any  church, 
his  fine,  sensuous  instincts  would  have  led  him  to  the  worship  of 
the  Virgin  and  saints.  But  the  coarse  reality  of  pain  in  this  man's 
face  seemed  to  have  had  strange  power  over  him  in  these  four 
weeks  of  solitude.  I  cannot  divine  what  Markle's  business  is  with 
him,  eh  ?  " 

Mr.  Conrad  made  some  grave,  evasive  reply;  Margaret,  sewing 
by  her  window,  raised  her  head  to  listen,  but  her  pale,  full  lips 
were  relaxed,  and  her  unlighted  eyes  vaguely  wandered  up  and 
down  the  road  as  if  the  air  that  came  to  her  had  no  living  breath 
in  it. 

It  was  but  an  hour  or  two  before  dusk  when  Markle  rang  at  the 
great  hall  door  of  Broderip's  house.  He  never  had  known  the  man 
or  his  home ;  yet  he  looked  about  him  with  a  sense  of  indignant 
pity.  Vans  stood  at  the  outer  gate  which  they  were  loading  with 
furniture.  The  greenhouse  roofs  gaped  open,  showing  the  bare 
plank  shelving  where  there  had  been  beds  of  color  and  perfume. 
The  garden  flowers  were  trampled  down,  and  strewn  over  with 
straw  and  broken  crockery.  The  doors  of  the  inner  rooms  swung 
ajar,  to  and  fro,  disclosing  carpetless,  dusty  floors,  staring  windows, 
grates  filled  with  smouldering  ashes.  •  Irish  porters  and  negroes 
jostled  each  other,  spitting  tobacco  juice  over  the  floor,  and  swear 
ing  as  they  carried  out  books,  pictures,  statues :  all  the  poor  little 
surgeon's  household  friends,  dead  and  buried  henceforth  out  of  his  life 
forever.  Admittance  was  not  so  easy,  Markle  found.  The  black 
servant,  who  opened  the  door,  turned  doubtfully  to  a  red-headed, 
sandy-faced  young  man  who  walked  nervously  up  and  down  the 
hall,  a  self-appointed  sentinel.  "  Mr.  Farr,  kin  dis  gemman  ? " 

"  Your  name,  sir  ? "  said  George  Farr,  sharply,  "  Doctor  Brod 
erip  receives  no  patients." 

"My  name  is  Markle." 

"You  were  to  be  admitted  then,"  with  a  bow,  motioning  him  to 
a  closed  door.  It  was  a  long  narrow  room  which  he  entered, 
through  which  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  struck  redly :  here  and 
there  were  piled  chairs  and  book-cases,  ready  for  removal.  Near 
the  door  there  stood  a  table  of  Florentine  mosaic,  and  on  it  a  salver 
heaped  with  trifles  belonging  to  a  lady's  work-table ;  the  gold 
scissors  and  stiletto  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  a  heap  of  laces  dragged 
down  over  a  bust  of  Psyche  pure  enough  to  guard  a  woman*s 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  321 

chamber.     Markle  stopped  short  and  looked  down  at  them,  his  hol 
low  cheeks  growing  scarlet. 

These  were  some  of  the  petty  ways  in  which  Broderip  had  made 
ready  to  welcome  his  bride :  last  night  he  had  taken  them  from 
their  hiding  place  to  burn,  and  then,  with  his  keen  sense  of  honor, 
thrust  them  from  him,  thinking  that  he  had  no  right  to  keep  even 
his  memory  of  her  sacred,  and  watching  while  a  greasy  porter 
hoisted  the  basket  that  held  them  on  his  shoulder,  and  went  whist 
ling  down  stairs.  He  had  suffered  them  to  stand  there  all  day 
uncared  for. 

Now,  Markle  could  not  know  this,  yet  he  guessed  enough  of  it  to 
send  the  blood  curdling  sharp  and  cold  through  his  veins.  Look 
ing  up, he  saw  the  man  he  came  to  meet  standing  by  a  table,  his 
baffling  hazel  eyes  reading  his  face.  He  waited  composedly  till 
the  Lieutenant  came  near, and  named  himself,  then  bowed  gravely, 
and  with  a  smile  of  apology  turned  again  to  the  man  to  whom  he 
had  been  talking. 

But  Markle,  when  his  eyes  were  removed,  drew  a  hurried  breath. 
"  He  knows  what  Margaret  Conrad  is  to  me,"  he  thought,  and  felt 
that  he  was  to  meet  an  enemy  in  the  next  hour  such  as  he  had 
never  known  before. 

"  But  I  was  honest  in  coming  here,"  thought  the  Western  boy, 
straightening  himself  and  watching  his  antagonist  shrewdly. 

The  wiry  little  figure  of  the  surgeon  leaned  indolently  with  one 
hand  on  the  table,  on  which  some  account  books  lay  open,  a  bill 
with  the  ink  yet  wet  beside  them,  which  the  man  to  whom  he  was 
talking,  had  just  thrown  angrily  down;  a  long-jawed,  long-nosed, 
plausible  fellow,  whom  Markle  afterward  knew  as  a  broker  on 
Third  Street. 

"  No  law  would  sustain  such  a  charge ! "  he  reiterated,  in  a  loud, 
hoarse  voice.  "  It  is  extortion,  sir — extortion  !  " 

"  Probably,"  said  Broderip,  suavely,  with  a  quiet,  amused  smile. 
"I  have  no  objection  to  that  term.  But  the  law  will  give  you  no 
help,  my  friend.  There  is  no  rule  to  limit  my  charges." 

The   man  buttoned  his  coat  with    a  volley  of  muttered  oaths, 
among  which  mingled  a  jeer  at  his  folly  in  "  looking  for  the  honor 
of  a  white  man." 

The  surgeon  turned  sharply  and  met  him  with  a  cool  laugh, 
louder  than  was  usual  with  hi  in,  perhaps. 

"  A  month  ago,  Proctor,  I  would  have  had  your  money  to  gratify 
my  whims — to  buy  a  print,  maybe,  or  a  cask  of  wine.  Now  that 
print  and  wines — all  I  have — are  going  to  equip  the  regiment  with 
which  I  march,  I  will  not  spare  you.  It  is  a  colored  regiment,  as 
you  may  guess.  I'll  spoil  the  Egyptians  !  "  with  a  fine  sneer. 

He  turned,  leaving  the  man  to  find  his  way  out  as  he  could,  ap 
parently  deaf  to  his  muttered  abuse.     When  his  eye  fell  again  on 
21 


322  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

Markle  he  stiffened  himself  involuntarily,  and  drew  back  with  the 
coldest  sign  of  recognition. 

"  Your  time  is  short,  Doctor  Broderip,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a 
husky  tone,  coming  forward  and  leaning  his  palms  on  the  table  ; 
"  and  I,  more  than  any  man,  may  seem  to  you  an  intruder." 

The  little  man  opposite  had  mechanically  lifted,  and  brought  a 
chair  for  him,  the  largest  and  easiest  he  could  find.  He  was  an  Arab 
in  his  sense  of  hospitality ;  but  he  could  not  force  his  lips  open  to 
utter  a  word.  This  was  the  man  who,  some  day,  perhaps,  would 
be  Margaret  Conrad's  husband ;  it  was  her  love  for  this  man  that 
had  made  her  forbearing  and  kindly  toward  him,  fancying  a  like 
ness  between  them. 

He  did  not  hear  the  young  man's  stammering  effort  to  be  at  ease ; 
drew  back  into  one  corner  of  the  fireplace,  a  thin,  gray,  insignifi 
cant  figure ;  his  hands  behind  him,  his  chin  thrown  up,  his  face  in 
shadow,  but  for  the  stealthy,  passionate  eyes  that  followed  Markle's, 
silently  measuring  himself  against  him  in  body  and  mind.  Now, 
Broderip's  perception  of  character  was  keen  ;  he  knew,  at  a  glance, 
the  difference  in  power  in  himself  and  his  rival.  Yet  a  defeated, 
shrunken  look  came  slowly  into  his  countenance  and  over  his  whole 
figure,  as  he  looked. 

He  was  but  a  mulatto  before  Markle ;  he  cowed  before  the  white 
skin  and  Saxon  features  of  the  man.  Poor  weapons,  perhaps,  but 
with  them  alone  his  whole  life  had  worsted,  soul  and  body  hewed 
to  the  ground. 

His  tone  when  he  spoke  was  grave  and  authoritative.  "  My  time 
is  short,  Lieutenant  Markle.  May  I  ask  your  errand  at  once  ?" 

Markle  remained  standing ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  unconven 
tional  words  he  had  come  there  to  say  would  be  easier  spoken  on 
his  feet ;  but  he  was  miserably  ill  at  ease,  and  hesitated  uncertainly. 

"  I  am  aware,"  said  the  surgeon,  after  waiting  a  moment,  "  that 
my  brother  owes  his  freedom  to  you.  I  am  grateful  to  you." 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  beg  for  thanks,"  with  a  slight  decisive 
motion,  as  if  he  had  determined  on  the  mode  of  attack.  "  Nat 
gave  me  my  life  ;  we're  on  the  square.  There's  no  relation  between 
us  but  that  of  friends." 

Broderip  lifted  his  hand  suddenly  to  his  head,  and  dropped  it 
again.  "  Your  relations  are  with  me,  then  ?  " 

"Yes." 

They  faced  each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Markle's  enthu 
siastic  face  grew  red ;  he  took  a  step  forward.  "  I  came  here,  Doc 
tor  Broderip,  to  speak  of  a  matter  which  lies  between  you  and  me 
alone  in  life,  but  I  would  like  to  tell  you  first  how  hard  all  this 
seems  to  me,"  motioning  to  the  ruined  home  about  him.  "I  know 
what  you  gave  up  voluntarily  rather  than  live  a  lie,  and  I'd  like  to 
Bay  to  you  how  I — how  every  honest  man  honors  and  recognizes 
the  heroism  of  the  deed." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  323 

Broderip  bowed  silently,  the  color  leaving  his  tight-shut  lips. 
"  If  you  had  been  my  own  kinsman,"  the  young  man  went  on, 
hotly,  "  I  could  not  have  been  prouder  than  when  I  knew  poor  Nat's 
brother  had  played  his  part  so  nobly.  Whatever  cause  of  differ 
ence  hereafter  may  lie  between  us,"  his  face  changing,  "  I  wish  you 
to  believe  me  sincere  in  this.  I  would  be  glad  if  you'd  take  my 
hand,"  holding  it  out  suddenly.  "I  am  going  back,  when  I  am 
strong  enough,  to  strike  another  blow  against  slavery,  and  if  you 
will  permit  me  I  will  exchange  into  your  regiment  and  fight  side 
by  side  with  you.  I  have  enough  of  the  lion  instinct  to  know  the 
true  prince  wherever  I  meet  him,"  with  a  smile. 

"  Under  the  mulatto1  s  skin  ?  "  But  he  held  out  his  hand,  with  a 
nervous  laugh. 

u  There  is  no  private  reason  which  need  come  between  us  in  our 
outdoor  life  ?  "  anxiously.  "  None  that  ought  to  prevent  our  being 
soldiers  and  comrades  ?  " 

Broderip  did  not  reply,  but  the  kindling  light  began  to  fade  in 
his  eye,  and  the  guarded  look  returned. 

"I  am  a  blunt  man,"  resumed  Marklc,  leaning  heavily  on  tlio 
table.  "  My  course  in  speaking  to  you  may  seem  indelicate  and 
rough,  but  it  is  my  habit  to  be  open  in  all  business  relations,  and  I 
know  no  reason  why  the  same  frankness  should  not  be  observed  on 
points  which  touch  us  more  nearly." 

The  surgeon  looked  up  startled,  a  fierce  scorn  on  his  mouth.  Miss 
Conrad's  name,  even  in  casual  mention,  had  rarely  passed  his  own 
lips  ;  was  he  to  listen  now  to  this  man  discuss  his  triumph  or 
chances  with  her  as  he  would  a  speculation  in  oil  ? 

"I  know  no  subject  open  for  our  argument,  Lieutenant  Markle," 
he  said,  rapidly.  "I  ask  no  man's  confidence.  For  myself — des 
pite  of  your  cordial  recognition — there  is  a  great  gulf  between  us. 
No  matter  what  rny  wealth  or  culture,  the  very  pity  in  your  face 
defines  it.  I  am  Cainan.  Eh,  do  you  see  ?  "  with  a  subdued  fierce 
ness.  "  Cainan ;  a  servant  in  the  tents  of  my  brethren.  But  you 
have  no  right  to  cross  the  gulf.  The  very  slave  in  the  cotton-field 
is  permitted  to  hide  his  poor  fancy  of  a  home,  and  keep  a  decent 
covering  over  it,"  crossing  his  arm  over  his  chest  as  he  spoke. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  drag  open  your  heart  or  mine  !  "  said 
Markle,  gently.  "  I  did  not  come  here  to  chatter  idly  of  this 
thing."  He  turned  his  black-visaged  front  to  the  window,  the 
stern  eyes  and  colorless  jaws  testifying  to  his  sincerity.  "  Under 
God,  nothing  has  taken  such  deep  root  in  my  nature  as  my  love  for 
Margaret  Conrad.  Nothing  ever  will  again.  What  a  man  might 
do  to  win  her,  I  would  do.  But,"  and  he  faced  Broderip  boldly, 
"  I  came  to  ask  you  a  question.  I  meant  to  take  no  dastardly  ad 
vantage  of  you.  I  came  and  spoke  openly  to  you  at  the  risk  of 
being  coarse  and  intrusive.  I  leave  it  to  your  honor.  If  you  have 


324  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

any  hope  of  marriage  which  you  have  delayed  in  order  to  serve 
your  people,  I  will  put  aside  the  thought  of  her  forever.  I  ask 
you  because  I  would  rather  learn  it  from  you,  than  put  her  to  the 
pain  of  wounding  me." 

"  You  forget  what  I  am,"  said  Broderip,  slowly.  "  She  never 
will  be  my  wife." 

The  white  man's  face  flushed  crimson.  "  Then  you  give  up  your 
claim  ?  "  eagerly. 

Theje  was  no  answer.  Broderip's  figure  stood  between  him  and 
the  window,  the  hard,  ascetic  face  turned  toward  the  darkening  sky. 

"  Ottley  told  me,"  in  a  rapid,  excited  tone,  "  that  you  were  a 
man  who  did  not  care  for  women.  Yet  it  is  no  wonder  I  feared 
you — I  can  see  what  power  you  would  have.  And  I'm  but  a  dull, 
awkward  fellow !  "  with  a  nervous  laugh.  "  All  work,  work,  and 
prose.  But  I  can  make  her  a  happy,  comfortable  home." 

Still  no  answer.  The  silence  of  the  man  brought  a  chilly  doubt 
into  Markle's  triumphant  face.  He  stopped  abruptly.  After  a 
moment,  he  came  to  the  window, and  touched  the  surgeon  on  the 
sleeve.  "  Doctor  Broderip,"  the  boy's  voice  had  changed  strangely 
to  one  old  and  grave,  "  I  mistook  you !  You  did  not  give  up  all 
chances  in  life  the  other  day?  You  have  a  claim  on  Margaret 
Conrad." 

"  I  have  a  claim." 

"When  you  come  back  from  the  war — " 

It  was  still  a  young  face  that  turned  to  Markle,  but  the  patience, 
the  sense  of  irreparable  loss  in  it,  awed  him  in  his  heat,  and  made 
him  dumb. 

"I  will  never  return  from  the  war,"  said  Broderip,  quietly. 
"  And  I  gave  up  all  chances  in  this  world.  Except  the  great  work 
of  serving  my  people,"  his  eye  lighting  for  a  moment. 

The  dusky  light  darkened  about  them  as  they  stood  silent  side 
by  side.  The  figure  of  the  surgeon  grew  indistinct  to  Markle. 
But  he  saw  him  put  out  his  hands  into  the  twilight,  irresolutely. 

"  I  may  never  see  Margaret  Conrad's  face  again,"  he  said.  "  But 
she  will  never  marry  you — she  will  never  marry  another  man.  I 
think  there  is  somewhere  a  world  where  my  color  will  not  keep  me 
from  her." 

A  day  or  two  afterward  Markle  told  old  Hugh .  Conrad  of  it. 
"  I  could  not  say  a  word  to  that,"  he  said.  "  It  was  as  if  a  woman 
had  looked  up,  and  cried  for  pity.  Though  a  shadowy  arm  like 
that  stretched  out  would  be  no  bar  in  my  way.  Love  and  mar 
riage  are  for  this  world,  of  course.  I  bade  him  good  night,  and 
came  away.  I  hope  he  knew  by  my  face  that  I  understood  him — 
I  hope  he  did !  I'm  but  a  dull  fellow  with  words.  I  will  not  see 
him  again  till  we  come  to  the  battle-field:  we  can  be  comrades 
there  with  no  thought  behind." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  325 

Broderip,  left  alone,  stood  by  the  window  till  the  stars  came 
out,  glittering  like  steel  points  in  the  dark  blue.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  man's  face  on  the  wall.  A  childless,  wifeless,  homeless  man, 
of  birth  as  poor,  and  skin  as  dark  as  his  own,  who  had  gone  down 
into  the  dregs  of  the  people,  giving  up  a  man's  whole  birthright  to 
lead  a  great  reform,  to  cleanse  the  souls  of  imbruted  men  and 
women.  By  that  light  the  mulatto  of  these  days  read  the  story  of 
Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Imperceptibly,  this  carpenter's  son,  whose 
visage  was  more  marred,  and  whose  life  was  more  heroic  than  any 
other  man's,  was  actually  growing  a  more  live  and  kindred  fact  to 
him  than  any  of  the  white  race  that  cast  him  off,  or  his  brother 
negroes  yet  under  the  yoke.  He  often  stood  when  darkness  came, 
as  he  did  now,  before  the  coarse  print,  his  forefinger  on  it,  his  eyes 
contracted  on  the  face,  asking  it  questions  through  the  shadows  .of 
eighteen  centuries ;  his  eyes  contracted,  and  wet  sometimes,  as  no 
human  being  had  ever  seen  them,  asking,  as  of  one  who  had  borne  - 
it,  "  Was  it  an  easy  thing  to  be  trodden  under  foot  of  every  man 
without  a  cause  ?  what  was  this  for  a  man — a  man  to  do  in  the 
world,  to  live  wifeless  and  childless?  where  was  the  recompense?" 

John  Broderip  turned  at  last  from  the  print  into  the  lonely  discom 
fort  and  vacancy  of  his  home.  He  would  follow  this  man  in  his  work ; 
he,  too,  would  help  to  lift  a  degraded  people  out  of  their  slough. 
He  stretched  out  his  hands,  opening  and  shutting  them  with  a  slow 
smile,  and  then  waited  to  speak  cheerfully  to  Nathan  and  some 
negroes  who  came  through  the  hall.  But  under  all,  there  was  a 
dull  wonder  if  his  work  or  his  people  were  indeed  worth  to  him 
the  wife  and  children  he  had  lost  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"ONE      WITH     HIS     KIND." 

JOE  BUKLEY  came  up  to  Captain  Knox's  tent  one  evening  before 
drum-call  with  a  letter  in  his  hand.  "  Here's  mention  of  Nathan 
at  last,  Cap'n.  This  here  letter,"  tapping  it  with  his  finger,  "  was 
written  last  November,  and  here's  June,  and  it's  just  come  to  hand. 
Dang  the  mails !  Nat  went  with  his  brother  to  jine  a  colored  reg- 
ment.  Where  is  it  ? "  poring  over  the  page.  "  Rossline  usually 
writes  fair  enough." 

"  Doctor  Broderip,  with  his  party  of  negro  recruits,  started  for  the 
seat  of  war  yesterday.  Although  they  were  called  into  the  service 
by  the  Goverment  they  were  not  allowed  to  wear  its  uniform  in  the 
streets.  The  white  regiments,  as  you  know,  went  out  with  arms, 
and  banners,  and  music;  but  these  poor  fellows  huddled  along  the 
pavement  as  if  going  to  their  daily  work,  and  their  shuffling  and 
gait,  and  subdued  look  never  told  the  story  of  their  wrong  half  so 


326  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

powerfully  to  me  as  now,  when  they  were  raising  their  own  hands 
to  right  it.  Doctor  Broderip  was  with  them ;  the  same  gray,  still, 
austere  figure  as  when  in  his  own  drawing-room.  I  fancied  that 
his  face  was  sallower,  and  the  mulatto  features  seemed  more  plainly 
marked.  I  couldn't  forget,  as  he  stood  on  the  prow  of  the  boat 
after  they  had  embarked,  looking  up  into  the  darkening  city,  that 
he  left  all  his  life  as  a  white  man  behind;  that,  after  his  long  strug 
gle  out  of  slavery,  he  was  going  back  now  to  his  race  to  take  their 
fate  on  him  again.  There  was  not  a  word  of  kindly  cheer  for  him  ; 
the  very  evening  was  gray  and  dull,  the  wharf  was  nearly  vacant ; 
but  I  scarcely  regretted  shouts  or  popular  clamor  for  him.  I  fan 
cied  they  would  hardly  have  touched  his  pain  or  his  triumph.  I 
was  in  an  open  carriage  with  Mr.  Ottley  :  that  dull,  si  lent  Margaret 
Conrad  was  with  us,  and  her  father.  Mr.  Ottley  had  turned  the 
horses  suddenly  to  the  wharf,  saying,  'We  shall  be  just  in  season 
to  see  Broderip  for  the  last  time;  you  all  wish  it?-'  and  drove  OE 
without  waiting  for  an  answer.  Miss  Conrad  shivered  as  if  she 
dreaded  the  night  wind  from  the  river ;  but  I  did  not  heed  her.  She 
is  not  like  a  woman  to  me,  but  a  dangerous,  lawless  man  in  an  iror 
mask.  I  could  not  turn  my  eyes,  though,  from  the  pale,  high-bred 
face  in  the  twilight  beside  me,  and  the  shut  lip.  I  could  not  tell 
what  terrible  cry  they  would  utter  if  they  opened.  Mr.  Ottley 
called  cheerfully  to  Doctor  Broderip,  but  he  did  not  hear  him  ;  he 
was  thronged  about  with  blacks.  '  See  them  crowd  him,'  said  Mr. 
Ottley  with  disgust ;  '  to  think  what  he  might  have  been,  and  how 
he  chose  to  herd  with  these  wretches.'  The  surgeon  saw  us  at  that 
moment,  and,  coming  forward,  leaned  over  the  deck,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  and  looked  down  ;  he  made  no  gesture  of  greet 
ing  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Miss  Conrad's  face.  She  turned  slowly 
round  as  if  she  were  magnetized,  and  lifted  her  gray  eyes  to  his. 
She  made  no  sign  or  motion,  though  he  watched  her  as  the  boat 
floated  out  and  down  into  the  darkness.  Then  I  saw  him  stand 
erect  and  put  one  hand  out  slowly  and  gravely,  the  palm  toward 
the  land.  Puny  little  man  though  he  was,  with  his  negro  kinsfolk 
behind  him,  it  was  a  grand  gesture  of  farewell.  When  the  boat 
was  gone  we  drove  away  in  silence.  I  cried,  as  any  woman  would; 
but  Miss  Conrad  sat  immovable  as  iron.  '  If  I  were  a  man,'  I 
said,  when  I  could  speak,  'I  would  ask  no  better  fate  than  to  fight 
at  his  side.'  Then  she  turned  on  me.  '  He  is  a  negro,'  she  said. 
*  Nothing  can  make  him  as  other  men.'  *  I  took  heed  to  the  tones 
of  his  voice,'  her  father  said,  without  heeding  her;  'there's  a  ten 
der  human  softness  in  them  that's  new.  I  think  the  animal  is  most 
sloughed  off  of  John  Broderip.  I  think  this  sacrifice  for  his  people 
'11  bring  out  the  man  in  him  more'n  any  selfish  love  for  a  wife  or 
home  would  have  done.  He  was  half  beast  before,  in  his  own  no 
tion  ;  but,  curiously  enough,  it's  through  his  negro  blood  that  hu 


WAITING  FUR  THE  VERDICT.  327 

inanity's  got  hold  of  him.     He's  one  with  his  kind.     His  brothei 
was  with  him.'  '• 

"That's  Nat,  you  know,"  looking  up  at  Captain  Knox.  "But 
this  letter's  six  months  old.  It's  too  late  to  give  the  clue  of  him 
to  that  boy  of  his  and  his  mother." 

"They  were  taken  back  to  the  Strebling  place?" 

"  Yes.  I  saw  her  before  they  was  took  back.  They'd  a  very 
comfortable  place  there  in  the  hospital,  but  she  was  wearin'  away. 
What  with  strainin'  her  eyes  over  the  hill  line  for  her  man  day  by 
day,  and  then  findin'  Tom  slippin'  into  the  pollution  of  the  other 
darkeys  about  camp,  both  together  acted  on  her  as  it  would  on 
white  women,  a'most.  Niggers  has  a  species  of  feelin's,  I  reckon." 

Joe  took  off  his  long-lost  letter  to  the  shady  side  of  the  camp,  to 
con  over  at  his  leisure.  Then  he  took  out  a  package  of  letters  of 
later  date,  worn  thin  with  often  reading.  But  he  went  over  them 
again,  growing  red,  and  chuckling  at  intervals.  There  was  some 
subject  in  them  which  he  did  not  broach  to  Captain  Knox,  though 
that  officer  had  noticed  that  Joe  had  suddenly  wearied  of  the  war, 
and  grown  despondent  about  his  chances  of  ever  seeing  home. 

He  took  now  from  a  bit  of  white  tissue  paper  a  little  lock  of  hair, 
softer  and  of  a  paler  gold  than  Ross',  and  laid  it  on  his  great  red 
palm,  with  a  smothered  haw-haw. 

"  To  think  of  that  little  fellar  bein'  ther'  in  my  place,  and  with 
my  name,  and  me  never  seein'  him !  '  Takin'  notice  at  a  month 
old  ? '  Of  course  he  did;  the  Burleys  were  all  for'ard.  Joe  Burley, 
eh  ?  Joe  Burley  !  "  and  he  turned  the  bit  of  curl  over  and  over 
before  he  folded  it  up  and  bestowed  it  safely  in  the  letter  again-. 
"Even  the  words  she  wiites  seems  to  be  stirring:  and  alive,"  he 

O  ' 

thought,  as  he  put  it  in  his  breast.  "  The  very  thoughts  of  Ross  is 
bright  and  healthy.  I'll  go  write  to  her  about  the  child  taking  a 
shower  bath  in  the  mornin'.  Between  Friend  Blanchard  and  that 
other  old  woman  cackling  about,  they'll  make  a  milksop  of  that 
boy  before  I  kin  reach  home.  That  other  matter,  too,  I'll  mention." 

The  other  matter  was  a  rumor  which  Joe  had  heard  from  Anny — 
an  old  story  which  she  said  lingered  among  the  Strebling  negroes, 
that  Nathan's  father,  Hugh,  held  some  secret  belonging  to  the 
Randolphs.  "It  may  be  of  importance,  Rossline,"  he  wrote. 
"  You'd  best  mention  it  to  your  husband." 

Ross  did  not  mention  it  to  her  husband.  On  the  contrary,  when 
Joe's  letter  reached  her  in  the  farm-house,  she  slipped  it  under  the 
baby's  quilt,  hearing  Garrick  come  in. 

The  end  of  the  story  of  Coyle  Randolph's  will  she  never  had 
heard ;  though  before  Garrick's  visit  to  Kentucky  it  had  been  his 
one  theme.  After  that,  it  dropped  into  the  silence  of  the  grave. 

Ross  made  no  effort  to  unearth  it.  The  more  she  held  open  every 
thought  ai>d  act  of  her  life  to  her  husband,  the  more  she  shut  her 


328  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

eyes  to  the  fogs  with  which  he  incessantly  smothered  his.  Aunt 
Laura  had  returned  with  him  on  a  visit  which  threatened  to  be 
perpetual.  She  lamented  to  Ross  without  ceasing  that  Garrick 
Randolph  was  not  the  man  he  used  to  be ;  that  he  was  irritable, 
moody,  scoffing  at  himself,  his  family,  all  kinds  of  honesty  or  reli 
gion.  But  Ross  was  deaf.  She  was  blind,  too,  to  the  change  in 
himself,  to  the  hollow,  suspicious  eyes,  the  cynical  smile,  the  s'-in^i- 
ness  one  day  and  squandering  the  next.  She  thought  she  knew  a 
Garrick  Randolph  that  even  he  did  not  now  know:  some  day  he 
would  come  back  to  her.  As  for  this  ill-temper  and  injustice,  they 
were  but  the  eruption  of  some  disease  which  sickened  him  at  heart ; 
until  she  could  cure  that,  why  should  she  quarrel  with  its  signs  ? 

That  day,  Ross  sat  on  a  low  stool,  chafing  her  boy's  white  back 
and  limbs  with  a  vague  notion  of  training  his  muscles. 

Her  dress  (still  the  old  fancy  of  blue  in  that)  was  a  trifle 
coarser.  Garrick  had  lost  his  office  at  Washington,  and  somehow 
the  baby  interfered  with  Ross'  drawings,  though  butchers'  and 
bakers'  bills  grew  weekly  heavier.  Her  cheeks  were  a  little  sunken 
now,  but  the  brown  eyes  were  brighter,  and  the  laugh  far  more 
ready,  and  though  her  golden  hair  was  tucked  up  in  a  matronly 
fashion,  one  curl  hung  down  for  baby  to  pull.  Baby  had  been 
nameless  for  a  long  time.  Aunt  Laura  had  named  it  Coyle,  with 
shrugs  and  lifted  eyebrows  of  amazement  at  the  morose  silence 
with  which  Garrick  listened  to  her.  Rose  herself  called  it  Garrick 
once,  but  that  venture  was  followed  by  a  sharp  refusal  and  another 
fit  of  inexplicable  gloom.  One  day,  after  playing  with  it  in  an  un 
usually  happy  humor,  he  tossed  it  back  into  her  lap,  saying: 

"  Call  it  Joe  Burley,  Ross,  he  is  the  honestest  man  I  know." 
At  which  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  filled  with  tears,  and  she  kissed 
him  before  she  kissed  the  baby,  in  a  way  that  put  him  in  one  of 
his  old  merry  moods  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

The  day  Joe's  letter  came,he  stood  smoking  by  the  fire,  watching 
her  as  she  absently  rubbed  the  child's  legs  and  arms. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  make  of  that  boy,  Rosslyn  ?  " 

She  looked  up,  coloring.  "  Whatever  he  is  fitted  for,  if  I  ha  t  my 
way — whether  teacher  or  blacksmith.  But  I  hope  there  will  be 
some  great,  generous  work  ready,  like  this  of  freeing  the  negro, 
when  he  is  a  man.  I  want  him  to  be  a  helper  in  the  world.  Not  a 
mere  grubber  for  bread  and  butter." 

u  Your  boy  will  differ  from  your  husband  then,"  with  an  unpleas 
ant  laugh. 

"  No,  Garrick,"  steadily.  *     •  v 

"  God  knows  what  was  wrong  in  my  making-up  ! "  pacing  the 
floor,  his  hands  thrust  in  the  pockets  of  his  dressing-gown.  "  I 
used  to  be  reckoned  a  kind,  generous  fellow,  but  according  to  your 
rules,  I  am  no  better  than  a  thief  and  a  homicide.  You  call  the  men 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  329 

who  sanctioned  the  discipline  at  Anderson ville,  wholesale  murder 
ers  ;  now,  I  know  some  of  them,  and  better  husbands  and  fathers — " 

Ross  stood  up  with  a  white,  indignant  face.  "  You  shall  not 
class  yourself  with  those  men  !  Nothing  you  can  have  done — " 

"  Rosslyn,  shall  I  tell  you  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  No,  Garrick."  She  began  fondling  little  Joe  again,  but  her 
hands  shook. 

"  It  was  not  the  old  negro  that  I  regret  so  much  as  the  matter  of 
the  will." 

"I  will  not  hear,"  resolutely.     "You  are  an  xionorable  man." 

"  Don't  say  chivalric,"  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  That's  past— 
past ! " 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should,"  quietly.  "  That  word  chivalry  has 
been  brought  to  mean  a  fine  generosity  to  your  equals,  and  your 
foot  on  the  neck  of  all  beneath  you ;  hospitality  in  the  house,  woman- 
whipping  in  the  quarters,  and  starvation  in  the  prisoners'  pen." 

Randolph  made  no  reply,  stood  staring  out  of  the  window  till 
his  pipe  went  out  in  his  mouth.  Ross  went  on  dressing  her  boy. 

He  turned  on  her,  at  last,  sharply,  "  What  if  you  knew  your  son 
to  be  a  beggar,  Rosslyn  ?  Not  alone  in  property,  but  in  all  that 
gives  a  man  standing — family  honor — " 

A  half  mischievous  humor  twinkled  in  her  eyes.  "  Dear  Garrick, 
sometimes  I  wonder  if  family  honor  is  not  a  heavier  burden  than 
family  shame  would  be." 

His  face  flamed  scarlet.  "You're  right,"  he  muttered,  "you're 
right."  Then  he  went  out, and  came  back  in  half  an  hour,  to  tell 
her  he  purposed  going  on  a  long  journey  to-morrow. 

"  Yes,  Garrick,"  quietly.     (She  had  heard  it  so  often  before ! ) 

"  I'll  give  up  my — Joe's  inheritance  " — holding  one  hand  over  his 
pale  jaws.  "  When  I  return  I'll  turn  into  hard  work." 

Secretly  Ross, thought  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  but  she 
, only  repeated  her  gentle  "Yes,  Garrick." 

"  I  want  to  be  off  by  the  early  train,"  beginning  to  stroke  his 
whiskers  in  the  old  complacent  fashion.  "  While  I'm  gone,  Ross, 
if  I  were  you,  I  would  avoid  Friend  Blanchard.  She  is  a  very 
Machiavelli  in  petticoats.  Ask  Aunt  Laura  for  advice,  in  my  stead, 
if  you  need  any." 

Ross  buttoned  Joe's  sleeve-bands  with  a  vehement  click,  but 
said  nothing. 

lie  did  not  tell  her  that  his  proposed  journey  was  into  Georgia, 
and  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  He  hardly  gave  a  thought  to  the  physi 
cal  <lang*er ;  and  if  he  had,  would  not  have  alarmed  her.  "  It's  the 
road  that  will  make  a  man  of  me  again  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  with 
something  like  a  terrible  inward  sob. 

Ross  began  to  rock  her  baby  to  sleep,  holding  him  to  her  breast, 
with  the  old  half  smile  whenever  she  caught  her  husband's  eye. 


330  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

She  had  heard  all  this  so  often  before.  She  knew  he  would  not  go 
to-morrow.  She  knew  his  foot  was  on  the  entrance  to  the  right 
road,  but  he  would  stand  there,  paltering,  until  it  was  too  late.  She 
offered  no  advice  or  warning..  Garrick  wondered  why  she  grew  so 
deadly  pale  as  she  sang  Joe  to  sleep,  but  God  heard  the  words  in 
her  heart  as  she  sat  singing  her  cheerful  little  song. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    A    NEW    DAY. 

HE  did  not  go  to-morrow.  Day  slipped  into  day,  month  into 
month,  until  Winter  had  passed  into  Summer,  and  Summer  into 
Winter  again.  By  turns  he  worked  feverishly  for  weeks,  or  was 
totally  idle ;  it  was  noticeable,  however,  that  when  he  worked  he 
did  not  heed  how  coarse  the  labor  was.  There  was  no  talk  now 
of  its  fitness  for  the  hands  of  a  gentleman.  He  worked  desperately, 
as  a  monk  might  have  done  violent  penance  by  which  he  hoped  to 
cleanse  himself  of  some  long-ago  stain.  But  the  weeks  of  lazy 
lounging  and  ill-temper  followed  as  surely.  Meanwhile  flour,  and 
meat,  and  clothes  must  be  bought.  Ross  and  little  Joe  tugged  on 
together,  baby  though  one  was.  Some  manner  of  pilgrimage  tests 
the  quality  of  every  man  or  woman  in  life;  there  were  times  now 
when  to  Ross  the  water  was  bitter,  and  the  manna  scanty;  when 
she  could  almost  have  cried  aloud  in  her  extremity,  "  Why  hast 
Thou  brought  me  here  to  die  before  my  time  ?  "  But  as  her  eyes 
sank  into  deeper  hollows,  they  learned  to  be  more  tender  to  her 
husband.  She  could  see  the  Leader  before  them,  but  Garrick  wan 
dered  apart  in  a  solitary  way.  He  had  lost  faith  in  the  Randolphs, 
in  himself;  he  had  been  more  certain  of  them  than  of  God.  He 
kept  his  hold  of  his  wife's  hand :  it  was  his  one  anchor.  Perhaps 
her  strong,  healthy-colored  physique,  her  elastic  spirits,  and  sunny 
temper  wese  of  more  apparent  help  to  him,  in  this  time  of  his  life, 
than  the  religion  that  underlaid  them. 

But  the  end  came  at  last,  when  the  war  was  over,  that  time  which 
cut  short  so  many  tangled  threads. 

One  warm  May  evening,  Rosslyn  sat  sewing  on  the  farm-house 
porch,  her  sturdy  little  Joe  playing  at  her  feet,  and  old  Mr.  Conrad 
in  a  great  wooden  chair  beside  her. 

"  Yes,  it  is  heartsome,"  in  answer  to  some  remark  of  hers.  "  I 
know  just  the  yellow  light  there  is  yonder  in  the  west;  and  the 
dogwood's  like  swarms  of  white  butterflies  in  the  woods  now,  I 
reckon,  eh?  But,  about  Meg?"  lowering  his  voice,  anxiously.  "I 
was  going  to  say  that  I'm  disappointed  in  Meg.  It's  a  carnal  dis 
appointment,  too.  But  Margaret  always  seemed  to  me  to  belong 
to  that  old  Titan  race  we  read  of,  with  her  large,  white  limbs,  and 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  031 

powerful  brain,  that's  been  dumb  so  long.  I  foresaw  to  look  for 
some  great  utterance  when  it  spoke.  Yes,  I  did.  If  it  had  been  in 
words  or  music  she  told  what  was  in  her,  I'd  not  have  been  sur 
prised  if  the  whole  world  had  stopped  to  listen.  But  when  she 
ends  in  sittin'  down  to  teach  a  lot  of  big  and  little  niggers  in  Baker 
street,  day  after  day — " 

"  But  it  is  like  your  own  work." 

"  O,  I'm  a  different  affair.  But  with  Meg's  beauty  and  power  ! 
Mean  hands  for  mean  work,  I  say." 

"But  it  was  her  master's  work,"  gently. 

"  Surely,"  absently.  "  Well,  the  black  blood  is  not  abhorrent  to 
her  now.  If  she  had  been  less  bitter  once " 

Ross  said  nothing.  The  war  was  over;  and  that  meant  to  her 
that  four  millions  of  men  and  women  were  thrown  on  the  nation  for 
protection  and  help ;  men  and  women  whose  brains  and  bodies 
were  diseased  and  incomplete  from  generations  of  barbarism  and 
slavery.  Waiting  for  payment  of  their  wrong  ;  for  the  late  chance 
which  came  in  turn  to  every  nation.  It  was  in  curious  accord  with 
her  thoughts  that,  when  she  raised  her  eyes,  she  saw,  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps  a  mulatto  with  his  hat  in  hand,  who  might 
have  served  as  the  type  of  his  class ;  a  meagre,  stooped,  coffee-col 
ored  man,  with  a  cowed,  pinched  face,  and  slow,  melancholy  eyes. 
His  tone,  when  he  spoke,  had  the  reticent  quiet  of  one  who  had 
learned  his  rights  and  meant  to  maintain  them. 

He  came,  he  said,  to  see  Mr.  Randolph,  bowing  without  a  smile. 

Ross  rose  with  a  vague  alarm,  at  her  husband's  name.  The 
shadow  of  his  secret,  half  guessed  by  her,  pursued  her  day  and 
night.  She  did  not  know  what  hour  it  would  arrest  them. 

"  You  have  travelled  far  to  see  my  husband  ?  "  when  she  had 
sent  to  summon  him. 

"  It  wur  a  long  way,  Missus." 

She  hesitated  before  the  next  question,  glancing  doubtfully  at 
Mr.  Conrad.  Broderip's  name,  for  some  undefined  reason,  was  now 
never  mentioned  among  them.  After  the  battle  near  Bermuda 
Hundred,  where  he  led  his  blacks  into  the  charge,  he  was  reported 
missing.  Whether  he  had  been  shot  on  the  field,  or  taken  prisoner 
was  never  known.  She  hesitated,  as  if  about  to  unearth  the  dead, 
before  she  said,  "You  are  the  brother  of  Doctor  Broderip,  who 
went  with  him  into  the  war?  " 

Nathan  bowed,  but  did  not  speak.     There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Where  have  you  left  him?" 

He  looked  up  dully.  "  I'se  loss  him.  He  wur  took  to  Anderson- 
ville.  Dar  wur  no  exchange  for  de  officers  of  cullored  regiments. 
Dar  wus  nothin'  but  death  for  them." 

Conrad  brought  down  his  stick  heavily  on  the  ground.  "N-o!" 
standing  up,  pale  and  trembling.  "  John  Broderip  never  was  suf 


332  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

fered  to  die  like  a  rat  in  a  hole !     God  is  just.     It  will  be  given  to 
him  to  see  the  freedom  of  his  people." 

But  Nathan's  eye  did  not  kindle ;  he  shook  his  head  hopelessly, 
and  then  it  sank,  as  before,  on  his  breast. 

"And  your  wife  and  boy?"  said  Ross,  softly. 

"  God  knows,  Missus,  God  knows.  I've  sarched  fur  dem,  it's 
long  years  now.  I  heerd  dey  come  Norf.  But  dey's  Joss  to  me,  I 
reckon." 

Ross'  eyes  flashed.  She  knew,  through  old  Joe,  that  they  were 
still  alive,  and  on  the  Strebling  place ;  but  she  kept  her  own  coun 
sel.  A  sudden  wrench  came  to  her  heart  as  she  heard  Garrick's 
slow,  lounging  step.  It  was  the  last  chance.  The  sight  of  this 
man  might  rouse  him  ;  but  it  was  the  last  chance,  and  a  slight  one. 

He  came  out  on  the  porch,  in  his  flowered  dressing-robe,  and 
stood  still,  looking  at  Nathan  as  he  rose. 

The  mulatto's  keen  glance  ran  over  him.  "  I've  an  arrand  fur 
you,  suh,"  in  the  same  monotonous  voice,  a  little  raised.  "  I'se  lost 
brother  an'  wife  an'  chile.  Dar's  but  one  I  ken  find,  an'  I  kum  to 
you  for  him,  suh.  Dat's  my  father,  ole  Hugh." 

Brought  face  to  face  at  last  with  his  miserable  secret,  in  common 
place  words,  Garrick  stood  motionless,  looking  in  the  man's  face. 
There  was  no  surprise  in  his  own ;  he  had  waited  the  summons  too 
long.  But  the  thin,  fastidious  features,  in  their  frame  of  waving 
brown  hair,  grew  curiously  rigid  and  discolored,  as  if  a  cold  finger 
had  touched  the  heart  underneath. 

"You  sent  him  to  Georgy,  suh,"  simply  stating  the  fact,  with  no 
reproach  in  the  tone.  "  Dat  wur  de  time  when  you  had  de  right 
to  send  us  to  Georgy;  but  we  cullored  people  is  gittin'  togedder in 
families  agin,  now — mudder  -and  brudders  and  chillen.  I'se  got 
none  left  but  de  ole  man,  suh,  if  he's  libiri'.  If  you'll  gib  me  a 
hint,  suh,  I'll  find  him." 

Garrick  looked  over  Nathan's  head  into  the  pleasant  May  even 
ing.  Without  turning  to  them  he  saw  Rosslyn's  eyes  upon  his 
face  :  they  seemed  as  if  she  asked  life  or  death  at  the  hands  of  God ; 
he  saw  little,  chubby  Joe  in  the  sand  at  his  feet.  A  chill  passed 
through  him  as  if  some  deathly  nightmare  lost  its  hold ;  he  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  then  a  strange  clearness  came  into  his  face. 

"Gome  in,  Nathan,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I  will  go  with  you  to 
morrow  to  find  him." 

"  You'll  find  him  alive ! "  said  Conrad,  in  an  under  tone.  "  And 
Broderip  will  return.  God  is  just !  " 

But  Garrick  did  not  hear  him.  He  only  saw  his  wife's  face, 
flushed,  grand  and  tender  with  the  trust,  looking  for  the  first  time 
out  from  her  soul  to  his.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  as  they 
weiat  in  together.  No  words  passed  between  them,  but  she  knew 
that  he  had  returned  forever  to  his  true  self  and  to  her. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  333 

Garrick  went  with  the  mulatto  in  the  morning.  Friend  Blanch- 
ard,  who  had  driven  out  for  breakfast,  stood  by  Ross  in  the 
window,  watching  the  tears  and  smiles  on  her  face,  that  had  grown 
both  pale  and  thin  in  the  last  year.  The  old  Quakeress  shrewdly  /  • 
guessed  the  secret,  but  she  was  turning  away  without  notice  when 
Ross'  thoughts  broke  out  aloud. 

"  He  promised  to  return  before  the  boy's  birthday,  and  to  bring 
both  the  negroes.  I  have  a  plan  for  that  day,  if  you  will  aid  me." 

"Does  thy  husband  -know  it,  Rosslyn?"  putting  her  finger  on 
the  girl's  lips.  "Let  him  be  first  to  hear  thy  little  secrets.  Hus 
bands,  in  my  day,  were  wont  to  be  more  jealous  of  women  friends 
than  of  lovers." 

Ross  blushed,  and,  taking  up  Joe,  began  to  talk  suddenly  of  the 
croup,  in  which  the  old  lady  joined  with  a  sad,  amused  smile  on 
her  withered  face.  One  topic  after  another  had  been  tacitly  inter 
dicted  between  them,  until  nothing  was  left  but  Joe  and  his  ail 
ments.  Perhaps  the  silence  between  the  two  women  brought  them 
nearer  than  any  speech  had  ever  done. 

When  she  was  gone,  Aunt  Laura  brought  her  crochet-work  to 
the  writing-table,  where  Ross  was  seated. 

"  I  find  Garrick  has  not  taken  his  medicine-case,  Rosslyn.  I 
think  the  risk  run  by  his  going  into  those  low,  swampy  grounds,  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  is  very  great — and  so  I  should  have  told 
him,  if  my  advice  had  been  asked.  But  young  people  stand  in 
need  of  no  counsel  now-a-days.  I  can  conceive  of  no  business 
sufficiently  important  to  tempt  the  risk.  What  was  his  business, 
Rosslyn  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  certainly.  I  thought  it  better  not  to  interfere, 
Aunt  Laura ; "  and  Ross  fitted  a  pen  into  its  handle. 

Aunt  Laura  laid  down  her  sewing.  "  Rosslyn,  you  do  not  know 
your  first  rights  as  a  wife  !  You  could  have  a  very  good  influence 
over  Garrick,  if  you  chose — very  good.  But  you  should  insist  on 
absolute  confidence.  However,  I  am  tired  advising  you.  What 
was  it  I  heard  you  say  of  the  boy's  birthday  ?  I  shall  not  be  here, 
however,  so  it  matters  little  to  me." 

Ross  got  up  and  gave  the  feeble  little  face  a  cordial  kiss.  "  Why 
should  you  not  be  here  ?  Why  should  n't  we  all,  for  once,  be  glad 
together?  It  seems  to  me,  since  peace  and  freedom  both  came,  as 
if  a  new  morning  had  dawned  for  the  world,  and  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  my  boy  as  being  a  part  of  it.  I  thought  I  would  like 
to  bring  a  little  good  to  others  on  the  day  he  was  given  to  me." 

"  Then  I  must  say,  my  dear,  you  are  very  foolish,  if,  as  I  suppose, 
you  aro  going  to  mix  yourself  up  in  Freedmen's  Aid  Societies,  and 
the  like;  meddling  with  the  everlasting  negroes.  A  mother  who 
keeps  her  children  well  dressed,  and  manages  their  teething  prop 
erly,  has  no  time  for  such  philanthropy,  or  other  philandering." 


334  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I'm  not  fit  to  be  in  a  society,"  said  Ross,  simply,  dipping  her 
pen  in  the  ink.  "  I  always  quarrel  with  the  other  women.  But 
Joe  has  to  learn  that  the  best  work  for  a  man  is  to  help  somebody 
weaker  than  himself;  and  I  think  his  mother"  ought  to  teach  him 
that." 

"  That  is  another  affair  from  negro  worship,"  said  Aunt  Laura, 
complacently ;  and  Ross  wrote  her  letter  to  old  Joe,  undisturbed 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


A  LOW  sunset  striking  oblique  lines  of  sultry  yellow  light  over 
plats  of  rice  fields ;  in  the  front,  a  white,  verandahed  house  gutted 
and  half  burned ;  a  clump  of  singed  mulberry  trees  at  its  back. 
The  quarters  were,  however,  untouched  by  fire,  and  swarming  with 
negroes  of  every  shade  from  a  sickly  chalky  hue  to  oily  black. 
Garrick  Randolph  stood  on  the  charred  steps  of  the  house  porch 
looking  down  at  them ;  a  squat  man  with  shrewd  eyes,  looking  from 
bushy  red  eyebrows,  the  former  overseer  of  the  place,  was  beside 
him. 

"  There  is  little  chance  of  success  in  your  search  here,  Mr.  Ran 
dolph,"  hitching  up  his  trousers.  "  The  old  man  is  most  probably 
in  some  of  the  dens  in  Savannah,  if  alive." 

"  I  was  told  there  were  large  numbers  of  freedmen  collected  along 
this  shore,  and  thought  it  worth  inspection.  I  never  before  saw 
such  masses  of  blacks  as  I  have  found  congregated  in  Georgia  and 
Carolina,"  running  his  eye  thoughtfully  over  the  descent.  "  I  begin 
to  feel  that  they  might  become  a  power  in  the  country,  under  certain 
conditions,  of  course." 

"  They're  a  weight  that'll  bring  it  to  perdition  if  they're  ever 
given  a  vote,"  growled  the  man. 

"  The  more  reason  that  they  should  be  made  fit  to  vote,"  said 
Randolph,  quickly.  "Where  is  the  owner  of  this  place  ?  " 

"  Layton  ?  Killed  at  Antietam.  His  widow  is  with  her  kin  in 
Carolina.  What  could  she  do  with  this  wasted  land,  and  no  nig 
gers  ?  Some  of  these  people  worked  for  Stacy  back  of  the  ridge, 
and  demanded  wages,  but  Stacy  contrived  that  the  wages  jest  paid 
the  rent  of  their  quarters,  and  there  wasn't  a  penny  over  for  food. 
Fifteen  died  on  that  plantation  last  Winter  of  sheer  starvation. 
What  of  that?  Stacy  knowed  when  Congress  made  his  niggers 
free,  it  meant  it.  Their  dead  bodies  was  nothing  out  of  his  pocket 
now.  Then  agin,  the  old  uns  and  babies  ain't  counted  in  on  most  plan 
tations,  in  the  payment  of  rations.  *  Wages  you  want,  and  wages 
you  shall  have!'  says  Stacy;  'but  them  as  can't  work  needn't 
beg.'  Stacy's  sharp." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  335 

"But  these  old  men  have  given  their  strength  and  years  to  him," 
said  Garrick,  raising  his  voice,  as  the  face  of  Hugh  grew  suddenly 
real  to  him. 

"  Well,"  reflectively,  "  some  of  the  planters  are  both  just  and  kind 
in  suiting  themselves  and  their  people  to  the  new  order  of  things. 
They  pay  fair  wages.  But  with  them  as  owned  large  gangs  it's 
different.  You  can't  in  natur'  expect  much  sympathy  between  a 
man  and  two  or  three  hundred  field  hands  he's  been  choused  out  of, 
eh  ?  Like  them,"  nodding  contemptuously  to  the  swarming  crowd 
below. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  among  them,  Mr.  Ringold." 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  I'll  go  down  with  you,  sir,"  and  Ringold 
preceded  him  and  shouldered  a  passage,  using  the  butt-end  of  his 
heavy  riding-whip  about  him  as  composedly  as  if  it  had  fallen  on 
brambles  in  his  way,  instead  of  women  and  children's  heads. 
Randolph  found  himself  speaking  to  them  gently,  as  he  had  never 
done  to  his  own  slaves.  The  very  tones  of  his  voice  had,  somehow, 
a  tang  like  those  of  Ross.  A  great,  sluggish,  sinking  mass,  he 
thought,  shaken  out  of  its  old  place  in  the  nation.  Where  was  the 
lever  to  raise  it  ?  What  mortar  would  cement  it  in  its  place  again  ? 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  live  ?  "  he  demanded  of  a  withered  old 
fellow  with  a  mat  of  white  wool  about  his  dried,  monkey  face. 

"  Mass'  Ringold  tink  he  raise  de  cotton  crop,  hyur,  an'  we  gwine  in 
on  de  sheers.  We's  free  men  now,  suh." 

"  But  until  then  ?     You'll  starve  in  the  meantime." 

"  Jes  so,  Mars',"  Avhich  the  gathering  circle  echoed  solemnly. 

"  Whose  cows  are  those  ?  "  suddenly  pointing  to  a  herd  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  grazing  below. 

"  Dey's  strays.     We  den  milks  dem." 

"  Why  not  sell  the  milk  in  Savannah  ?  Send  it  down  in  a  bateau  ? 
Sell  the  butter ;  it  is  worth  its  weight  in  gold  there  now,"  eagerly. 
"  Why  not  go  to  work  and  plant  corn,  yams — anything,  on  this 
ground  on  which  you  have  squatted  ?  You  could  make  double  the 
proceed  of  the  cotton  crop." 

"  Jes  so,  Mars'."  the  old  man  assented,  nodding  more  solemnly. 
"  De  good  Lo'd  knows  dat's  so." 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Randolph,  growing  angry,  "  that  famine  is 
before  you.  It's  written  plainly  on  the  face  of  this  country.  Will 
you  do  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  Suh,"  submissively,  "  de  good  Lo'd  knows  dem  words  ob  yours 
is  de  truf.  Mars'  Ringold,  hyur,  he's  gwine  to  raise  de  cotton  crop, 
an'  we  den  is  gwine  in  on  de  sheers.  We's  free  men,  you  see,  suh." 

"  And  so  they'll  come  back  to  the  same  words  if  you  reasoned 
with  them  for  hours:  like  a  dog  about  a  turnspit,"  said  Ringold 
as  they  turned  away.  "  A  nigger's  got  neither  reason  nor  thrift, 
and  you  can't  make  silk  out  of  sow's  skin." 


336  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  The  negro  in  the  North,  wherever  he  has  had  the  education  of 
the  white,  has  been  equally  thrifty.  /But  he  is  everywhere  imitative, 
and  what  thrift  do  you  expect  from  the  slaves  when  Southern 
masters  were — what  they  were  ?  " 

Randolph  stopped  suddenly.  He  had  not  realized  before  how, 
since  he  came  back  into  the  South,  he  had  been  echoing  the  opinions 
he  had  forced  from  Ross  from  time  to  time — opinions  for  which  he 
had  lectured  her  sharply  the  very  day  before  he  left.  His  face  grew 
hot  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  forgot  her,  and,  five  minutes  after 
ward,  used  her  very  words,  unconscious  that  he  did  so.  Another 
change  was  marked  in  him,  of  which  he  was  also  ignorant.  Travel 
ling  with  Nathan,  he  did  not  use  the  arrogant  tone  habitual  to  him 
before  he  married.  It  was  impossible  to  feel  in  the  same  way  to  a 
chattel  whom  you  could  trade  for  a  mare  and  filly,  and  the  man 
who  would  probably  poll  his  vote  with  you  at  the  next  election. 
Nat  was  keenly  conscious  of  the  difference.  Upon  one  or  two  oc 
casions  Garrick  even  gave  him,  in  a  lordly  way,  hints  of  the  ne 
cessity  of  a  future  conservative  policy  in  the  country,  to  which  the 
mulatto  listened  submissively,  neither  understanding  nor  believing 
a  word. 

Randolph's  face  lowered  into  its  habitual  gloom  as  they  retraced 
their  steps.  His  senses  had  perhaps  grown  morbid,  but  he  began 
to  find  on  every  black  face  he  met,  a  curious  likeness  to  the  poor 
old  wretch  whom  he  sought.  Was  it  the  wrong  that  had  been  done 
to  him  which  was  stamped  on  them  all,  and  reproached  him  from 
their  eyes  ? 

Nathan  came  up  to  them  as  they  reached  the  porch  steps. 

"  No  trace  of  the  old  man's  trail,  my  poor  fellow  ? "  said 
Ringold,  kindly. 

"  No,  suh,"  shaking  his  head.  "  'Pears  as  if  we  cullored  people's 
little  account  in  de  world.  Dar's  sech  a  light  trail  lef '  when  we'se 
gone." 

"  There's  a  range  of  plantations,"  said  Ringold,  turning  to  Ran 
dolph,  "  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  where  the  people  are  fairly 
paid,  I  hear.  There's  a  night-school  somewhere  there,  where  it's 
not  unlikely  you'd  get  word  of  him.  We  will  have  some  supper, 
and  ride  over." 

Randolph  assented,  and  after  nightfall  they  rode  down  to  the 
ford  and  crossed,  Nathan  trotting  on  behind.  The  night  was  dark. 
When  they  came  within  sight  of  the  shed  where  the  school  was 
held,  the  red  light  from  its  frameless  windows  and  doors  streamed 
across  the  fields.  "I  think  that  ar's  a  curious  sight,"  said  Ringold, 
nodding  up  to  the  shed.  "It's  one  I  didn't  expect  to  see  among 
Georgy  field-hands,  that's  a  fact.  Let's  get  off  the  horses  and 
walk  up." 

Outside  of  the  shed,  groups  of  half-grown  negro  boys  were  loung- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  337 

ing,  asleep  or  awake;  but  the  interior  was  crammed  with  field- 
hands,  men  and  women,  many  of  them  gray-headed  and  decrepid. 
Each  of  them  held  a  bit  of  tallow  candle,  and  by  its  light  was  peer 
ing  forward  at  a  blackboard,  on  which  the  alphabet  and  a  few 
simple  words  were  written  ;  they  spelled  these  after  the  teacher  in 
a  sort  of  droning  song,  their  foreheads  knit,  and  eyes  set  earnestly. 
The  two  men  stood  watching  at  the  window  until  the  teacher  per 
ceived  them,  and  at  a  pause  in  the  lesson,  joined  them.  He  was  a 
thin,  anxious-looking  young  man,  and  held  by  the  hand  a  little  girl 
dressed  in  a  queer  slip  of  jeans,  fastened  with  horn  buttons,  such  as 
a  man  would  be  apt  to  fashion. 

"  I  think  I  can  gain  some  information  of  the  man  you  want,"  he 
said,  "after  the  lesson  is  over,  however.  The  candles  burning  are 
a  loss  to  my  pupils,"  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Have  you  much  difficulty  in  inducing  them  to  come  ?  " 

"  I  have  to  turn  them  away,  literally,  by  the  hundred.  They 
come  here  after  their  day's  work,  and  save  part  of  their  scanty 
wages  to  pay  me.  I  have  schools  every  night  on  different  planta 
tions." 

"I  thought  it  was  a  work  of  charity  on  your  part,"  sneered 
Randolph. 

The  man's  hollow  cheek  flushed.  "I  wish  it  were.  But  I  cannot 
give  my  time  for  nothing.  I  must  live." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  said  that  to  Forbes,"  said  Ringold,  taking  a 
chew  of  tobacco  as  the  master  turned  away.  "His  wife  died  a 
month  or  two  ago,  and  left  him  with  some  disease  that  had  had 
him  down  for  years,  and  that  little  gal.  He's  just  begun  to  crawl 
about  now — does  odd  jobs  in  daytime,  and  teaches  the  niggers  at 
night.  He  was  always  set  agin  slavery,  Forbes  was." 

Garrick  looked  at  the  child,  and  the  man  who  was  trying  to  be 
father  and  mother  to  her,  and  almost  forgave  him  his  unmanly  work 
of  teaching  negroes.  "How  do  you  succeed?"  he  said,  kindly, 
when  the  lesson  was  over,  and  the  master,  still  holding  the  child  by 
the  hand,  came  to  them. 

"There's  not  much  to  be  done  with  the  present  generation. 
They're  dull,  dull !  Though  it's  pitiful  to  see  their  desperate  efforts 
to  comprehend  and  remember.  I  have  old  men  and  women  of 
eighty  trying  to  learn.  Now,  the  little  ones,  on  the  contrary,  are 
curiously  quick  and  peart ;  but  they're  all  alike — hungry  for  knowl 
edge.  It's  like  an  epidemic  among  them.  They've  got  the  idea  it's 
the  thing  that  will  bring  them  to  a  level  with  the  whites." 

Randolph  winced.  He  patted  the  child's  head  by  way  of  di 
version.  Forbes  took  her  up,  his  eyes  kindling.  "  Yes,  she's  a  good 
little  girl — Janey.  Say  your  verse  for  the  gentleman,  Janey;" 
and  when  Garrick  praised  her,  and  noticed  the  delicate  contour  of 
her  freckled  little  hand,  he  colored  with  pleasure  like  a  woman. 
22 


338  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  I  have  sent  for  a  negro  who  knows  all  new  comers  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  can  tell  us  if  your  man — Here  he  is,"  as  a  stal 
wart  mulatto  swaggered  in. 

"  'Pears  as  if  dat  was  de  'scription  of  ole  Dad  from  Kentucky," 
after  he  had  listened  to  Randolph.  "  He's  bin  hyur  since  Spring. 
Ise'll  carry  him  to  ye.  He's  no  notion  of  dyin',"  in  answer  to  some 
stammered  question  of  Nathan's.  "  He's  tough." 

Nathan,  who  had  waited  patiently  during  the  last  hour,  moved 
nervously  from  place  to  place  after  the  man  was  gone,  his  limbs 
jerking,  his  lips  trembling  uncontrollably.  He  drew  Randolph 
aside.  "  Suh,  dat  is  my  father  he  is  gone  to  fetch :  dat  is  all  de 
kin  left  n*e.  Kin  I  go  out  to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  Surely.     I  will  go  with  you." 

They  crossed  the  field,  and  seeing  two  figures  approaching, 
stopped  in  the  road  beyond.  The  moon  was  up,  and  shone  full  in  their 
faces.  It  was  old  Hugh,  tougher  and  weather-beaten,  the  clothes 
in  rags,  but  the  gray  wool  and  broad,  white  collar  framed  the  same 
shrewd,  watchful  face.  He  stopped  short  when  he  saw  Randolph, 
with  a  glance  of  terror  and  suspicion. 

"  Thank  God,  he  is  not  dead,"  thought  Garrick.  "  I  came  to  look 
for  you,  Hugh,"  loudly,  "  to  bring  you  home  again." 

The  negro  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  every  trace  of  sus 
picion  vanished  from  his  shining  face.  He  held  out  his  shaking 
hands.  "  Den  it  wan't  by  your  will  I  was  took  away  ?  I  tought 
you  couldn't  do  it.  I  tought  you  couldn't !  " 

Garrick  did  not  speak,  but  drew  aside,  leaving  Nathan  standing 
in  front  of  his  father.  "Who  am  dat?"  cried  the  old  man  shrilly, 
after  a  quick,  keen  scrutiny.  "  He  has  de  look  ob  my  ole  woman — 
dead  forty  years  ago." 

Nathan  took  his  hand  without  speaking. 

"It  is  one  of  the  sons  you  lost — Nathan,  Hugh,"  said  Randolph. 

The  old  negro  scanned  the  meek,  little,  bald-headed  man,  then 
slowly  drew  away  his  hand.  "  It  was  a  little  lad  I  lost — a  little 
lad.  Hyur's  an  ole  man  dat  you  fetch  me." 

No  one  spoke. 

"  He  wur  a  little  live  chap,  about  your  age,  suh,"  looking  at  the 
sinewy  young  Kentuckian  from  head  to  foot,  his  eye  pausing  on  the 
finely-accented  features.  "He'd  right  to  be  like  you.  What 've 
you  done  to  make  him  into  dis  ole  man  dat  you  fetch  me  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  Nathan  !  "  smiling  feebly. 

"God  bless  you,  den,  my  son,"  slowly,  turning  dryly  away,  how 
ever,  and  hobbling  up  the  hill  alone.  Presently  he  put  out  his 
hand  and  rested  it  on  Nathan's  shoulder,  smiling.  "  Fse  a  cross- 
grained  old  chap  ;  but  I'se  berry  glad  to  find  you,  Nathan.  Whar 
am  yer  brother  ?  " 

"  We'll  find  him  soon,"  evasively. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  339 

"  He'll  be  an  ole  man,  too,"  he  mumbled.  u  Ise'll  neber  find  my 
little  lads.  Dey's  gone,  dey's  gone." 

That  night  Hugh  came  shuffling  into  the  tavern  parlor,  where 
Randolph  sat  smoking.  "  You  heerd  from  Mars  Bob  Strebling 
'bout  dat  paper,  suh?"  tugging  at  his  wool,  and  then  standing 
quietly  before  him. 

"  What  paper  ?  "  pushing  down  the  ashes  of  his  pipe. 

"  De  will ;  Mars  Coyle's  will.  I  gib  it  to  a  cunnel  in  Mars  Bob's 
division,  to  deliber  it  to  him,  and  I  heerd  he  done  it." 

u  The  will  ?  You  had  my  father's  will  ?  You  sent  it  to  Robert 
Strebling  ?  " 

"  I  tought — "  looking  Randolph  straight  in  the  eyes,  "  if  you 
meant  as  you  said,  to  make  all  plain  to  Mars  Strebling,  de  will  wur 
needed  dar.  I  tought,  in  any  case,  it  wur  needed." 

"  It  was  all  made  plain.     When  did  you  send  it  ?  " 

"  Las'  Summer,  suh,  when  I  found  for  shore  dat  I  would  neber  seo 
de  ole  place  no  more.  You'll  forgib  me,  M's  Garrick,"  with  a 
childish  srnile  ;  ."  but  I  tought  you'd  meant  to  sell  me  inter  Georgy. 
It  warn't  fair  to  you." 

"  Well,  good  night,  Hugh,"  slipping  money  into  his  hand. 

He  sat  looking  steadily  into  the  empty  grate,  forgetting  to  re 
light  his  pipe.  For  a  year,  then,  these  God-forsaken  Rebels  and 
scoundrels — Streblings,  father  and  son — had  held  a  legal  tenure  on 
his  property,  and  from  sheer  generosity  had  forborne  to  touch  it  ? 

In  that  year  he  had  been  defrauding  them  of  it. 

He  rose  at  last,  and  crept  oft*  to  bed,  a  chill  of  meanness  and 
shame  pervading  every  atom  of  his  large,  handsome  body.  Ha 
wished  he  could  slough  off  the  old  Garrick  Randolph,  and  be  born 
again  a  hard-worked,  honest  man.  He  hoped  to  God  that  it  was 
from  his  mother's  pure  brain  and  soul  Joe  had  drawn  his  life. 
"  The  Burley  blood  is  clean,"  muttered  Garrick  Randolph  as  he  laid 
down — not  to  sleep. 

An  incident  that  occurred  next  morning  hastened  his  departure 
North.  Ringold  came  in  while  he  was  at  breakfast.  "  Here's 
another  cussed  unpleasantness  !  Forbes,  you  know,  the  little  gal's 
father  ?  Well,  they've  done  for  Forbes." 

"  Done  for  him  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Your  jaws  'ud  hardly  turn  so  white  if  you'd  been  here  through 
the  war,  Mr.  Randolph.  Come  out,  and  you'll  see  what  I  mean." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  beckoned  some  men  to  stop  who  were 
passing,  carrying  someting  on  a  stretcher ;  and  then  taking  off  the 
sheet  from  it,  showed  beneath  the  thin,  anxious  face  of  the  poor 
teacher,  a  little  paler  than  usual,  with  the  eyes  shut,  and  a  dark 
round  spot  on  one  temple. 

"  Shot  dead." 

"  Phil  Tarr's  mark,"  said  one  of  the  bearers,  pointing  to  the 


340  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

wound.  "  There  was  a  paper  pinned  to  his  breast  with  Tarr's  name 
signed  to  it." 

Randolph  stooped  over  the  dead  face ;  there  was  the  same  boyish 
smile  on  it  with  which  the  master  had  talked  of  his  little  girl  the 
night  before.  The  child  herself  stood  /patiently  now  by  the  board, 
holding  one  limp,  cold  hand  in  hers,  her  dress  uncared  for,  and  hair 
untended,  as  Ringold  noted,  touching  her  head,  and  adding,  "  He 
used  to  be  astir  early  to  have  her  washed  and  dressed,  same  as  her 
mother  done." 

"Ton's  Tarr,"  he  muttered  afterward,  nodding  to  a  man  on 
horseback,  riding  leisurely  past,  glancing  askance  at  the  body. 

"  Why  is  he  not  arrested  ?  "  said  Garrick. 

The  overseer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Forbes  was  a  Union  man, 
and  nigger  friend.  It  'ud  be  nigh  as  hard  to  get  justice  agen  his 
murderer  as  if  he'd  only  been  a  nigger." 

"  Good  God !  Why,  sir,  my  fear  has  been  that  we  were  pamper 
ing  the  negro  with  too  much  care,"  said  Randolph,  wiping  his  pale 
lips. 

"  May  be  so  among  the  radicals.  But  your  own  State  of  Ken 
tucky  reports,  officially,  over  five  hundred  negroes  outraged  and 
murdered  in  a  year,  and  no  steps  taken  to  avenge  them." 

"  If — if  no  other  provision  is  found  for  this  child,"  said  Garrick, 
hastily,  "  I'll  take  her  home  with  me." 

"  What  will  your  wife  say  to  that,  Colonel  ?  " 

cl  My  wife's  hearth  and  heart  would  take  in  all  the  orphans  of 
the  world,"  said  Garrick,  turning  away. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

OLD     WRONGS     RIGHTED. 

JOE  BURLEY — Captain  Burley  now — had  received  his  discharge. 
He  stood  on  the  stoop  of  a  tavern  just  outside  of  Memphis,  his 
knapsack  and  valise  en  the  floor  beside  him. 

"  You're  off  for  home,  Burley,  eh  ?  Well,  God  speed  you  !  Come 
to  Cleveland  when  you  can  ;  you'll  find  a  chair  by  the  fire  always 
ready  for  you,  and  a  welcome.  I'm  going  back  into  trade.  It'll  do 
us  both  good  to  fight  our  battles  over  again." 

"  Saddee,  Captain  Knox.  Yes,  I'm  off  for  home.  I've  sent  my 
sword  by  a  safe  conveyance.  I  was  afeerd  to  trust  it  with  my  lug 
gage.  There's  a  little  chap  at  home  that'll  prize  that  sword  when 
he's  old  enough." 

"  Your  grandson  ?  You  were  as  mum  and  quiet  about  that  boy, 
Joe,  as  if  you'd  been  a  young  man,  and  he  were  your  bride." 

"  So  ?  so  ?  "  growing  red.  "  Well,  you  see,  I'm  old,  Captain,  and 
a  great  pleasure  like  that  let  into  my  life  was  suddent  and  onex 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  341 

pected.  He  knows  me  a'ready,  his  mother  says,  through  my  picture. 
He's  a  remarkable  for'ard  child ;  only  about  two  years  old,  now." 

"  You  are  going  direct  to  Philadelphia  ?  " 

"  No,  I've  got  a  commission  from  Rossline  (that's  the  boy's 
mother)  to  fetch  Nat's  wife  and  child  with  me.  She  wants  to  bring 
the  family  together." 

"Is  there  no  tidings  from  Broderip?"  asked  Knox,  who  had 
taken  a  strong  interest  in  the  story,  as  Joe  told  it  to  him. 

Barley  shook  his  head.  "  Sometimes  I  think  of  the  war  as  like  a 
bottomless  gulf  I  used  to  read  of,  where  the  youngest  and  bravest 
was  throwed  in  as  sacrifices.  But  there's  none  went  down  into  the 
darkness  of  it  that  was  worth  more,  to  my  notion,  than  that  fiery 
little  devil  of  a  surgeon.  I  think  he'll  come  back  yet.  He  got 
cheated  out  of  everything  men  care  for,  by  his  black  blood.  I 
think  he'll  have  fame.  God  is  just,"  bending  his  head. 

Knox  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  "  You  go  down  to  the  Streb- 
ling  place  for  the  woman,  Burley?" 

"  Yes."     Joe's  face  clouded,  and  he  stopped  abruptly. 

"  I'll  meet  you  here,  then,  as  you  return.  Leave  your  luggage 
with  me." 

Joe  did  not  leave  his  pistols  with  his  luggage ;  he  loaded  them, 
and  took  also  a  big  hickory  cane,  knobbed  at  the  end.  "Perhaps 
that  young  cock-o'-the-walk  that  shot  me  in  the  boat  will  want  to 
try  another  'bout.  He'll  find  me  ready,  and  more'n  willin',"  he  said 
to  Knox.  Beside,  he  had  a  vague  feeling  that  the  work  of  his  life 
was  done,  and  the  quiet  evening  was  coming ;  so  it  was  seemly  that 
all  old  scores  should  be  paid  and  done  with.  The  score  with  Streb- 
ling  was  long  and  black.  "  I'll  have  the  woman  if  he  brings  out 
the  whole  of  his  fighting  posse !  "  he  muttered  again  and  again  as 
he  was  rowed  down  the  river  through  the  June  afternoon  to  the 
Strebling  plantation. 

When  the  boat  floated  up  into  the  thick  bed  of  lilies  on  shore,  he 
stepped  out,  adjusted  the  priming  of  his  pistols,  and  put  them 
within  easy  reach.  "Where  will  I  find  Strebling ?"  he  asked  the 
man  who  had  brought  him  down. 

"You're  on  the  old  gentleman's  land  now,"  resting  on  his  oar. 

Now,  Burley  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  this  mild  mention  of 
the  man  he  came  to  meet.  His  ancient  enemy  being  his  only  one, 
he  had  always  made  him  a  sort  of  receiver  for  all  the  gall  and  viru 
lence  of  his  nature ;  and,  having  finally  wrought  himself  up  to 
proper  fighting  heat  of  wrath  against  both  father  and  son,  would 
have  thought  it  only  natural  to  hear  them  popularly  called  slave- 
drivers  or  hell-hounds.  He  took  out  his  old  pocket-book  to  pay 
the  man,  therefore,  dashed  and  grim. 

"You'll  find  the  old  Gunnel,  likely,  yander,"  pointing  to  a  low, 
shed-like  cottage,  after  he  had  thrust  the  money  in  his  pocket. 


342  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Why,  that  belongs  to  the  quarters  ?  " 

"The  Yanks  burned  the  house.     The  niggers  is  gone,  too." 

Joe  started,  then  added,  glummer  than  before,  "  Strebling  could 
afford  to  lose  'em.  He  was  an  easy  liver,  a  man  of  means — Streb 
ling  was." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Most  of  his  money  was  in  Confederate 
bonds,  worth  nothing  now ;  and  they  was  free  with  their  money 
always,  while  it  lasted,  both  the  old  man  and  Bob.  Nobody  never 
come  to  them  needy  an'  was  turned  away.  'Seems  hard  he's  so 
put  to  for  even  his  victuals  in  his  last  days." 

"  He's  a  young  man  yet — James  Strebling — compared  with — 
some  others,"  glancing  down  at  his  own  gaunt  body  with  a  sudder 
shiver.  "  What  are  you  talking  of  his  last  days  for  ?  " 

"  He's  broken  fast  in  the  last  year ;  he's  ten  year  older  than  you,? 
and,  nodding,  he  pushed  the  boat  out  into  the  river,  beginning  to 
whistle  as  he  dipped  the  oars.  Joe  turned  up  the  slope,  trampling 
down  the  flowers  under  foot,  with  a  dull  sense  of  disappointment. 
His  eleven  men  in  buckram  had  dwindled  to  an  old,  gray-headed 
man,  already  defeated ;  unless  the  hectoring  son  turned  up,  he  was 
likely  to  have  no  fight.  "  And  James  Streb ling's  driven  to  that  ?  " 
glancing  at  the  miserable  dwelling.  "  Humph  !  The  wicked  stand 
in  slippery  places.  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it !  I'm  glad  of  it !  " 

But  his  face  was  crestfallen  and  ashamed,  as  he  came  nearer  and 
leaned  on  the  fence  about  the  hut,  to  determine  what  to  do.  Just 
then  a  light  touch  fell  on  his  arm.  "  God  bless  me !  Burley ! 
Joseph  Burley ! " 

"  Strebling  ? "  For  a  moment  Joe  stood  in  open-mouthed,  ap 
palled  doubt  before  the  tall,  lean  figure,  about  which  coarse  clothes 
hung  in  wrinkled  folds,  and  the  shaking  old  face  with  its  white 
hair  and  beard.  But  the  suave,  downward  gesture  ofxthe  hands 
reassured  him.  "  I'm — I'm  sorry  to  find  you  ill,  Strebling,"  he  said. 

"  Ah — urn  !  Yes,  I'm  ill.  Come^in,"  pushing  open  the  little  gate 
and  seizing  Joe's  big  hand  cordially  in  his  thin,  white  fingers.  "  I 
did  n't  expect  to  see  an  old  friend  to-day,  or  we'd  have  tried  to 
have  something  for  dinner — it's  generally,  now,  flitch  and  potatoes; 
we're  stripped  pretty  bare,  here.  But  the  welcome's  the  same.  I 
think  it  kind  in  you  to  hunt  me  up,  Burley,  very  kind.  Come  in — 
come  in." 

"  No,  I'll  not  go  in  at  present,"  thinking  that  it  was  easy  to  see 
where  Ross  had  gained  her  eager,  irrational  hospitality. 

Strebling  paused.  "  A  year  ago  I  would  have  entertained  you 
in  a  different  fashion.  There's  the  ruins  of  the  old  homestead,  yon 
der,"  pointing  to  a  heap  of  charred  logs  and  rafters.  "  This  is  the 
house  of  an  old  tenant  of  mine ;  she  gives  me  a  comfortable  bed 
and  a  plate  at  the  table  for  a  trifle.  I  need  but  little ;  and  I'll  not 
need  that  long,"  in  an  undertone. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  343 

"But  your  son?"  the  half  healed  wound  giving  an  angry 
throb.  Strebling  turned  suddenly  and  faced  him  with  wide  eyes 
and  trembling  lips.  "  You  did  not  know  that  Bob  —  Bob  — ," 
then  he  stopped  and,  turning,  walked  away  to  the  end  of  the  en 
closure. 

"  His  son  was  shot  at  Petersburg,"  whispered  a  woman  who  had 
come  down  from  the  house  while  they  were  talking.  "  He  was 
brought  home  here  and  died  two  days  after.  The  old  man's  never 
got  over  that,  nor  never  will." 

Burley  did  not  speak.  He  moistened  his  lips  one  or  twice  as  he 
stood  looking  at  the  feeble  old  man,  leaning  motionless  over  the 
fence,  and  finally  went  up  to  him,  standing  silent  beside  him  for  a 
few  moments.  "I  never  had  a  son,"  he  said  then  gently,  "but  I 
think  I  can  understand.  I've  seen  your  boy.  He  was  a  noble  look 
ing  specimen  of  a  man,  Strebling." 

"  Yes  he  was,"  with  a  long  hysteric  breath,  "  nobody  knew  Robert 
but  me.  Nobody  did  him  justice.  Up  to  the  last  moment  coura 
geous  and  merry,  to  keep  my  heart  up  !  For  himself  he  didn't  care 
to  live  when  the  cause  was  lost.  His  whole  soul  was  with  the 
stars  and  bars." 

Burley  was  silent.  "  God  help  him,"  he  thought,  scanning  his 
companion.  "I  thought  it  was  partly  the  loss  of  the  padding  and 
hair-dye  had  aged  him,  but  he's  touched  with  death.  There's  not 
a  month's  life  in  him." 

"  He  led  his  brigade  at  Fredericksburg,"  said  Strebling  in  the 
same  hopeless  quaver.  "  In  three  reports  he  was  signally  mentioned. 
But  what  mattered  that ?  He's  dead  now;  all  their  praise  won't 
give  him  back  to  me.  He  was  all  I  had,"  slowly,  with  a  vacant 
stare  into  empty  space.  "  There's  not  a  living  creature  in  the  world 
no\v  to  care  whether  I  live  or  die." 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  house  ?  "  gently. 

Strebling  put  his  hands  on  Joe's  arm  and  leaned  heavily  on  it,  as 
they  walked,  drawing  his  breath  with  difficulty.  "  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  talked  of  my -boy,"  he  said  brokenly.  "It  would  be  a 
relief  if  you  could  stay  with  me  a  day  or  two,  Burley.  But  this  is 
a  poor  place — a  poor  place." 

"It's  not  that  I  think  of." 

"  AVhat's  that  ?  "  nervously.     "  The  uncocking  of  a  pistol !  " 

Joe's  face  burned.  "  It  was  my  tobacco  box  I  shut.  Where  are 
your  friends,  Colonel  Strebling?" 

The  feeble  eye  wandered,  "  I  think  they're  gone,  they  don't  come 
nigh  me.  You  and  I  were  old  friends,  Joe.  There  was  that 
trouble — but  that's  over  and  forgotten,  and  there's  been  a  tie  be 
tween  us. " 

At  this  allusion  to  Ross,  Joe  stalked  on  more  quickly  in  sullen  si 
lence.  But  he  turned  by  the  gate.  "I'll  not  do  things  by  halves. 


344  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

I'll  go  into  your  house,  James  Strebling,  and  stay  with  you  till  to 
morrow." 

Strebling  woke  at  the  words,  into  a  feeble  alacrity.  His  cheek 
reddened,  and  breath  quickened,  as  he  ushered  Joe  into  the  house, 
and  welcomed  him  to  the  dinner  of  flitch  and  spinach  with  a  cordial 
courtesy  that  discomfited  Burley.  "Ther's  somethin'  in  blood, 
after  all.  Ther's  two  sides  even  to  this  man,"  he  thought.  "But 
ther'd  be  no  use  trying  to  convince  Rossline  of  that.  She's  terrible 
strong  in  her  prejudices — Ross  is  !  " 

It  so  happened  that  Randolph's  letter  arrived  that  afternoon. 
Strebling  read,  and  laid  it  open  on  the  table.  "  I  am  sorry  Ran 
dolph  has  heard  of  this  matter,  and  suffers  it  to  trouble  him.  An 
old  will  by  which  his  property  was  ceded  to  me.  The  will  was 
sent  to  Robert  and  me  a  year  ago." 

"  You  mean  to  act  on  it  ?  "  with  an  involuntary  stiffness. 

Strebling  drew  up  his  bent  shoulders  haughtily.  "The  Streb- 
lings  have  never  been  covetous,  whatever  were  their  vices.  The 
will  was  a  bit  of  spite  work  of  a  splenetic  old  man.  It  would 
hardly  be  in  accordance  with  Southern  notions  of  honor  to  rob  a 
kinsman  through  it.  My  son  threw  it  in  the  fire  when  it  came.  He 
was  most  anxious  that  cousin  Garrick  might  never  know  or  be 
annoyed  by  it." 

He  sat  a  long  time  tearing  the  letter  into  fragments,  his  eye? 
vacant,  his  lips  moving  with  some  half-articulate  words,  among 
which  Burley  distinguished,  now  and  then,  the  name  of  his  son. 

"  When  would  you  be  ready  to  go  out  yonder  with  me  ?  "  he 
whispered  at  last,  nodding  to  the  slope  of  the  hill  where  he  had 
told  Burley  Robert  was  buried. 

The  woman  of  the  house  beckoned  Joe  out  before  they  started. 
"  If  you  could  suggest  any  change  in  that  grave,  sir,  it  would  be  a 
kindness.  He's  worked  over  it  for  months,  and  now  when  there's 
not  a  pebble  to  lay,  or  weed  to  pull,  he's  sinking  faster  day  by  day. 
His  mind's  going  as  quick  as  his  body.  You  have  a  message,  per 
haps,  from  his  friends  ?  He's  like  to  be  a  heavy  charge  in  nursing 
on  me,  and  I've  four  children,  as  you  see." 

Joe  left  her,  uneasily,  and  went  out  to  see  the  poor  old  man  pat 
ter  miserably  above  the  broad,  large  mound  that  covered  his  son. 
Graves  were  not  to  Joe's  usual  taste.  He  drew  him  away.  What 
was  to  become  of  the  poor  creature?  "  Or,  after  he's  dead,"  Joe's 
meditations  ran  on,  "  what  kin  such  a  half-made,  gingerly  bein'  do 
out  ther'  in  that  great  and  dreadful  silence  ?  "  The  twinge  of  awful 
pity  that  he  had  for  the  man,  led  him  to  be  patiently  silent  when 
Slrebling  gave  another  timid  hint  of  the  tie  between  them,  and 
asked  eagerly  about  Joe's  home  life,  not  naming  Ross,  however. 

"  I'll  live  with  my  grandda'ter,  now  the  war's  over,"  Joe  said, 
boldly,  at  last.  "  She  has  a  boy  now." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  345 

"  A  boy  ?  "  The  old  man  stood  erect,  his  eye  flashing  proudly 
for  a  moment ;  then  he  sank  back  into  his  hopeless  quiet.  "  You 
are  a  happy  man,  Burley,"  was  all  lie  said. 

Joe  told  his  business  that  evening. 

"  You  will  find  the  woman  and  her  son  on  the  next  plantation ; 
take  them  with  you  to-morrow.  God  forbid  I  should  keep  father 
and  child  apart."  Burley  had  risen  to  go  up  to  bed  ;  he  turned  in 
the  door  at  these  words,  looking  at  Strebling  where  he  sat  with  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  his  gray  head  dropped  on  his  hands,  "  Father 
and  child  apart ! "  He  saw  that  his  wrinkled  lips  repeated  the 
words  again,  though  making  no  sound. 

Burley  came  back  suddenly  and  caught  his  shoulder.  "You 
have  another  child  than  the  one  who  is  dead — " 

Strebling  stood  on  his  feet,  put  him  back  with  one  hand  with  a 
grave  dignity.  It  is  no  time  to  call  up  old  crimes,  Joseph  Burley. 
They  have  gone  before  me  for  judgment.  I  am  but  a  lonely,  dying 
old  man.  She  is  my  child.  There's  never  been  a  day  of  my  life 
when  I've  not  been  hungry  for  her.  Let  me  alone." 

"  It  was  only — " 

"  You  have  been  a  father  to  Rosslyn.  She  and  her  children  will 
tend  you  in  your  old  age.  I'm  to  die  without  ever  putting  my  hand 
upon  her  head.  It  is  all  just,  perhaps,  yet  I  didn't  mean  to  be  a  bad 
man."  The  weak  treble  broke  down  into  absolute  silence.  After 
a  while  he  asked  Burley  gently  to  lead  him  up-stairs.  "  I  am  not 
well,"  he  said. 

Joe  stepped  into  the  open  hall  door,  looking  wistfully  out  into 
the  night.  His  deliberation  ended  with  a  ponderous  nod  of  the 
head.  "  God  forbid  that  I  should  keep  father  and  child  apart,"  he 
muttered,  and,  going  in,  wrote  a  telegram  to  Ross  to  meet  him  at 
Harrisburg.  "I  will  bring  a  sick  man  to  claim  shelter  from  you." 
I'll  not  tell  her  who  it  is.  Rossline's  been  bitter  agin  her  father, 
though  she's  said  nothin'.  It's  downright  onchristian  in  Rossline 
accordin'  to  my  notion.  Onchristian." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

INTO     THE     SILENCE. 

FROM  Pittsburg  to  Harrisburg,  Joe  was  obliged  to  travel  by 
easy  stages.  Strebling  sank  rapidly  day  by  day :  nothing,  perhaps, 
but  the  feverish  excitement  of  the  journey  kept  him  alive.  "If  I 
had  stayed  at  home  I  would  have  had  six  feet  of  cold  earth  on  my 
breast  to-day; "  he  said,  "  but  here  I  am,  alive,  and  on  the  way  to 
see  my  child.  I  owe  this  to  you,  Burley,"  with  a  smile  and  courteous 
little  bow.  His  effeminate  minauderies  were  not  offensive  to  Joe 
now:  they  seemed  only  patient  and  gentle  on  a  dying  bed.  He 


346  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

was  in  bed  in  a  quiet  room  of  a  hotel  in  Harrisburg.  Joe 
lumbering  on  tip-toe  about  the  bare  little  apartment,  trying  to  give 
it  a  home-like  look.  The  doctor  whom  he  had  summoned  had  gone 
away,  after  beckoning  him  out  to  the  stairway  to  whisper  a  few 
words,  which  had  driven  the  usual  twinkle  of  dry  humor  from  Joe's 
eyes. 

"  His  da'ater  will  be  with  him  to-night,  I  expect." 

"  I  hope  sKe  may  not  be  delayed.  In  case  anything  occurs  before 
morning,  summon  me  at  once." 

Anny,  her  firm  hand  unsteady,  was  unusually  slow  in  preparing 
him  for  the  night,  came  back  again  and  again  to  adjust  the  pillows 
or  medicines.  "  You'd  best  take  this  drink  in  to  him,  Tom,"  she 
said,  sitting  down  outside  with  a  little  sob.  "  You'll  likely  never 
do  nothin'  agin  for  ole  Mars." 

"  Free  now,  Tom,  eh  ?  "  said  Strebling,  quizzing  the  boy  as  usual. 

"  Yes,  I'se  free,"  with  solemn,  awe-struck  eyes,  giving  him  the 
glass,  his  warm,  yellow  hands  touching  the  cold,  ringed  ones.  That 
drink,  and  the  kind  word  had  all  the  solemnity  of  a  sacrament  to 
the  boy.  All  his  life  afterward  it  would  set  apart  to  him  slavery 
from  the  slaveholder. 

"  I  didn't  tell  him  nor  his  mother  why  we  brought  them  North," 
said  Joe,  sitting  down  on  the  bed.  "Rossline  desired  it  mio-ht  be  a 

*  <?  v3 

surprise.     Anny's  not  seen  her  husband  these  seven  years." 

A  pleased  smile  flitted  over  the  feeble  features,  which  were  grow 
ing  slowly,  strangely  sharp  and  wan.  "A  surprise,  eh?  That  was 
a  kindly  fancy.  A  lady  is  never  so  graceful  as  when  she  plays  the 
part  of  Providence  to  the  wretched  poor.  And  negroes  have  their 
feelings,"  looking  up  to  Joe.  "  Something  like  the  instinct  of  dumb 
brutes.  Yet  they  have  them  indubitably.  Yes." 

Joe  took  a  reflective  chew.  "  The  trouble  is  in  reasonin'  about 
niggers  that  the  races  is  got  so  mixed  down  ther  with  you  that  you 
can't  draw  the  line  exact  between  nigger  instinct  and  white  feel 
in's.  Now  there's  no  danger  of  amalgamation  with  us.  The  antip- 
aj:hy's  too  strong  between  the  colors.  Unfortunately  it  didn't 
exist  in  the  South." 

But  Strebling's  eyes  wandered  as  if  the  subject  were  of  trivial 
import.  "  It  will  all  come  right,  I  suppose.  There's  a  place  where 
all  things  come  right."  Then  he  began  pushing  down  the  red  and 
green  coverlid.  "Ask  these  people,  Burley,  for  a  white  spread. 
This  is  unfit  for  a  lady  to  see;  and  that  cologne  that  Anny  left  on 
the  table,  it  is  a  coarse  perfume.  I  prefer  the  odor  of  the  fresh 
linen  to  any  other,"  adjusting  the  fine  cambric  about  his  wrist,  and 
glancing  critically  at  his  pink-tipped  nails. 

As  the  evening  darkened  into  night,  however,  Burley  left  the 
bedside  oftener,  and  watched  anxiously  through  the  window  train 
after  train  redden  into  sight,  and  disappear  in  the  darkness.  Near 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  347 

midnight,  however,  Strebling  touched  his  hand.  "  I  think  there  is 
an  arrival,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  hear  a  woman's  voice." 

"  I  heerd  nothing,"  said  Joe,  glancing  doubtfully  at  the  eager, 
glittering  eyes.  Going  out,  he  met  Ross  coming  into  the  ante-room. 
She  caught  him  in  her  arms.  She  cried  and  laughed  as  she  used  to 
in  the  old,  stormy-tempered,  herb-girl  days.  She  put  his  rugged 
face  back  to  look  at  it,  drew  his  gray  hair  through  her  hand. 

"  So  many  years  you've  served  your  country,"  she  sobbed.  "  But 
you're  mine,  now.  I  have  so  many  !  I  have  so  many !  You  and 
Garrick  and  our  boy.  In  the  morning  I'll  show  you  the  boy,  grand 
father." 

"  Yes,  the  boy,"  stammered  Joe  uneasily.  "  You  don't  ask  who 
I  have  brought  you,  Rossline  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Since  you've  had  a  child,  did  it  never  make  you  think  of  them 
whose  child  you  were  ?  " 

Ross  turned  on  him :  a  woman's  face  now,  stern  and  inquiring. 
Joe  nodded  assent  to  her  mute  query.  She  drew  back  from  him. 
"  All  the  loss  of  my  life  came  from  that  man,"  she  said,  slowly.,  put 
ting  her  hands  mechanically  behind  her. 

"  What  would  you  have  been  worth  but  for  the  pain  and  loss  ?  " 
savagely.  "  You're  bitter ;  you're  onchristian,  Rossline.  Hear 
what  I've  got  to  say — " 

She  stood  silent  in  the  shadow  of  the  window  while  Joe  told  his 
story ;  stood  silent  after  he  had  done,  after  he  had  touched  her  hand 
and  said  once  or  twice,  "You'll  see  him,  sweetheart  ?  " 

The  sweet,  genial  heart  of  her  held  a  stouter  and  blacker  skel 
eton  than  Joe  dreamed  of.  Strebling  coughed,  moaned  feebly. 
Her  kindly  instinct  started  up  to  conquer  the  old  ghost. 

"  He  needs  some  one  !     Will  you  go  to  him  ?" 

Joe  made  no  answer. 

She  hesitated,  and  then  turned  to  the  door,  and,  with  a  grim  smile, 
Joe  followed  her  into  the  room.  The  figure  in  the  bed  sat  up 
right,  the  hands  clasped  together,  the  filmy  eyes  on  her  face. 

"  Rossline's  sore  tried.  If  he  claims  her  as  his  child,  she'd  turn 
from  him,  though  it  wur  his  dyin  breath." 

But  Strebling's  courteous  tact  was  alive,  though  half  of  his  body 
was  dead.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  my  friend  Burley's  granddaughter," 
he  said.  "Bring  a  chair  for  the  young  lady,  Joseph." 

Ross  stood  still,  holding  by  the  foot-board,  her  brown  eyes 
on  his  face. 

"  My  friend  Burley,"  he  said,  his  eyes  wandering  and  going 
back  to  hers,  "brought  me  home  with  him.  He  will  care  for 
me  while  I  remain  here.  But  the  physicians  assure  me  that  I  will 
not  cumber  the  ground  long.  Will  I  intrude  on  you,  Madam?" 

"  You  will  not  intrude,"  slowly.     Ross,  like  old  Joe,  did  not  do 


348  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

things  by  halves.  Having  said  so  much,  she  went  round  the  bed, 
and  put  her  hands  on  his  forehead.  "  You  will  not  intrude,  father," 
she  said. 

The  night  passed  slowly.  It  was  a  healthy,  warm  Summer's 
night.  Ross,  beside  the  bed,  with  the  nerveless  hand  in  hers,  felt 
a  strange  lightness  in  heart,  as  though  some  unclean  substance  had 
been  taken  from  her,  which  had  been  made  part  of  her  since  her 
childhood.  The  world  was  clean  and  strong,  as  if  the  breath  of  God 
had  freshly  passed  through  it.  Somewhere  in  the  wide  night  her 
husband  hastened  to  her;  her  baby  slept;  this  man  who  had  been 
her  only  enemy  held  her  hand  close  as  his  soul  trembled  out  into 
Death  ;  the  blue  starlit  heaven,  and  the  loving  soul  of  Jesus  beyond, 
bent  nearer,  nearer  over  all. 

Strebling  was  only  conscious  enough,  part  of  the  time,  to  per 
ceive  the  fresh  wind,  the  shaded  light,  the  clear  tints  of  Ross'  blue 
dress,  and  hair,  and  eyes.  Pleasant  airs,  out  of  life,  fanned  him  to 
sleep.  Before  dawn,  however,  he  looked  about  him,  intelligently. 
"  Burley  !  "  he  called,  "  what  did  the  doctor  call  my  complaint  last 
night  ?  They  all  differ — all  differ.  There's  a  pressure  here,"  put 
ting  his  hand  to  his  forehead;  "I  cannot  account  for  that  symp 
tom." 

Joe  glanced  at  Rosslyn,  and  left  the  room.  She  wet  his  lips 
with  wine.  He  watched  her  wistfully,  put  out  his  finger  unseen, 
with  a  hungry  affection,  and  touched  her  arm. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "  it  is  near  the  end,  my  dear  ?  " 
She  could  not  answer  him. 

He  told  her  presently  that  he  never  had  seen  a  woman  so  tender. 
She  was  tender.  If  she  could  have  put  all  the  love  that  had  been 
lacking  between  them  into  that  last  hour,  she  would  have  done  it. 
When  Anny  came  in  he  recognized  her,  and  smiled,  and  when  she 
was  gone,  took  out  the  diamond  studs  he  wore,  and  gave  them  to 
Ross.  "  They  will  provide  comforts  for  the  poor  creatures."  Then 
he  paused,  a  quick  agitation  passing  over  his  face. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  leave.  My  property  may  some  day  be  of 
value  ;  but  the  State  will  take  it — all— unless  I  could  make  a  will 
even  now  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  not,"  said  Ross,  gravely.  She  would  not  see  the 
sudden  heat  of  pleasure  fade  from  his  face.  He  took  out  his  watch 
from  under  the  pillow — a  plain  one,  with  the  case  battered  by  a 
bullet. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  gently,  "  will  you  destroy  this  when  I  am 
gone  ?  It  was  Robert's.  I  could  not  bear  it  to  pass  into  a  stran 
ger's  hands.  If  there  had  been  one  of  our  blood  who  could  have 
worn  it " 

A  fierce  struggle  between  pride  and  some  nobler  feeling,  as  he 
spoke,  had  driven  the  blood  from  her  pale  lips.  "No,"  she  said,  at 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  349 

last,  "  I  will  give  it  to  my  little  boy,  and  tell  him  it  belonged  to  a 
brave  man,  father." 

Strebling's  eyes  flashed.     "  God  bless  the  child  !  "  he  said. 

After  a  long  while  he  said,  looking  her  steadfastly  in  the  eyes, 
"  I  think  you  have  forgiven  me.  Will  you  kiss  me,  Rosslyn  ?  " 

She  kissed  him,  the  tears  falling  hot  and  quick.  He  half  raised 
his  hand  with  a  troubled,  deprecating  smile,  and,  with  the  motion 
incomplete,  grew  suddenly  still,  and  cold.  The  weak  spirit  and 
weak  body  had  parted,  forever. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

HOME. 

Ross  brushed  the  last  curl  on  her  boy's  forehead,  as  he  sat  by  his 
grandfather,  and  then  rose  from  her  knees.  "  Now  I  am  ready," 
she  said,  her  cheeks  red,  her  eyes  brilliant.  The  house  had  put  on 
its  holiday  dress.  Aunt  Laura,  her  lace  lappets  pinned  back,  was 
giving  the  last  delighted  touches  to  the  breakfast,  inside,  with  her 
satellites,  Matsy  and  Anny,  about  her.  Ross  stood  beside  Joe  on 
the  porch,  looking  down  at  the  clover  fields,  and  the  broad,  shining 
creek  below.  If  she  could,  by  one  motion  of  her  arm,  have  s^iven 
to  all  the  world  their  heart's  desire,  as  she  had  her's  that  morning ! 
It  seemed  only  fitting  to  her  that  the  July  day  framed  her  little 
ftte  in  floods  of  golden  sunshine ;  not  because  it  was  her  boy's 
birthday,  but  she  had  a  dim  intuition  that  to-day  the  key-note  was 
struck  in  her  husband's  life,  and  that  of  these  other  human  souls 
whom  she  had  brought  about  her,  and  the  tone  rang  out  to  her  tri 
umphant  and  clear. 

She  sent  to  summon  Anny. 

"  The  train  is  due  in  half  an  hour;  it  is  time  to  prepare  her,"  she 
said  to  Joe,  with  an  unsteady  laugh. 

"  You've  kept  your  secret  well,  sweetheart.  But  there  are  four 
millions  of  these  p'eople  impatient  to  be  helped  up — and  up.  What 
signifies  four?" 

"If  we  all  lift  a  few — "  nervously.  "Don't  damp  my  pleasure. 
Come,  Anny,"  going  down  into  the  field. 

The  mulatto  followed,  Tom  close  behind.  She  had  dressed  her 
self  and  him  because  it  was  Mrs.  Randolph's  /dfe-day,  and  worked 
hard  to  carry  out  her  plans ;  but  her  face  and  step  were  heavy  and 
worn  out  as  she  watched  the  white  lady's  delicate  figure  and  radi 
ant  face  before  her. 

Rosslyn  turned  to  her  suddenly.  "What  brings  the  tears  to 
your  eyes  on  my  holiday  ?  " 

The  woman  hesitated.  "  I  was  thinking,  Missus,  that  God  was 
good  to  you.  Yer  husband  was  coming  back  to  you — " 


350  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  Yes,  my  husband  is  coming  back  to  me,"  gently. 

She  walked  on  in  silence  until  she  came  to  a  small  brick  house,  set 
in  a  square  patch  of  a  flower  and  vegetable  garden,  and  opening 
the  gate,  went  in. 

"  It  is  a  house  which  my  husband  will  let  to  a  man  that  he  brings 
with  him  to-day.  A  good  workman,  I  believe,  with  an  industrious 
wife,"  as  she  unlocked  the  door.  "  The  rent  will  be  merely  nominal 
for  a  year  or  two.  I  will  find  them  work  and  good  wages." 

Anny  courtesied,  seeing  that  some  reply  was  expected  from  her. 

"Work  and  wages  enough  to  enable  them  to  buy  the  place  in 
time,  if  they  desire  it.  I  would  be  glad  if  you  and  Tom  would  re 
main  here  until  the  man  arrives,  and  re-arrange  the  furniture  ac 
cording  to  your  own  taste.  I  bought  it  for  his  wife.  She  is  a  friend 
of  mine." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  said  Anny,  zealously,  taking  the  key.  It  was 
a  long  time  since  she  and  Tom  had  dreamed  their  little  dream  out 
of  a  home  of  their  own,  to  which  "  he,"  when  he  was  found,  would 
come  ;  but  the  remembrance  of  it  gave  zest  to  this  chance  of  hap 
piness  for  strangers.  The  boy  and  she  entered  the  cottage,  while 
Ross,  writh  a  subdued  smile,  went  back  to  the  house.  She  walked 
leisurely,  thinking  she  had  yet  half  an  hour  to  spare.  There  was 
no  use  in  going  to  her  grandfather,  or  the  boy ;  they  were  too 
much  taken  up  with  each  other  to  have  a  word  to  spare  for  her. 
She  had  yet  her  childish  love  of  stories,  and  had  tried  every  day  to 
inveigle  Joe  into  a  corner  to  tell  her  some  of  his  adventures,  but  it 
was  always  young  Joe's  time  for  a  bath  in  the  creek,  or  a  canter  on 
the  old  mule,  or  an  expedition  for  eggs,  or  to  see  the  cows  milked. 

She  gave  up  to-day  in  despair,  and  left  them  to  their  own 
devices. 

Turning  up  the  path  through  the  orchard,  her  heart  throbbed 
and  stood  still.  She  caught  sight  of  a  tall,  sinewy  figure  crossing 
the  fields  with  a  quick,  elastic  step,  leaping  the  fences,  whistling 
like  a  boy,  calling  to  Aunt  Laura  on  the  porch,  in  his  old,  merry 
fashion,  pausing  at  the  gate  to  lift  Friend  Blanchard  from  her  coupe 
with  a  hearty,  cordial  welcome.  Ross  ^stopped  in  the  little  arbor, 
and  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her.  Her  knees  trembled,  her  blood 
ran  faintly,  she  knew  not  why,  and  when  he  came  and  took  her  in 
his  arms,  her  eyes  grew  blind  as  she  hid  her  face  on  his  breast.  It 
was  in  this  arbor  the  vision  of  .what  he  seemed  to  others,  had  shown 
itself  to  her  long  ago.  But  this  was  the  husband  she  had  loved. 
He  had  come  to  her  at  last. 

He  kissed  the  wet,  closed  eyes.  "  What !  crying  ?  Oh,  foolish 
sweetheart !  Because  it  is  our  boy's  birthday,  and  mine  f  " 

Then  both  were  silent. 

Soon  after,  the  grape  leaves  were  pushed  aside,  and  a  gray  head 
and  golden  one  were  thrust  in  side  by  side.  It  was  hard  to  tell,  Ran- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  351 

dolph  thought,  which  was  the  ruddiest  face,  or  most  in  love  with 
life.  His  heart  warmed  to  the  old  man  as  never  before,  though  he 
had  been  proud  of  old  Joe's  bravery  and  popularity  this  many  a 
day.  They  went  up  the  path  to  the  house,  Garrick's  hand  resting 
on  the  shoulder  on  which  the  boy  was  seated. 

"I  can't  toll  you  how  welcome  home  again  you  are,  Burley,"  he 
repeated,  heartily.  "Ottley  will  be  out  to-day,  Ross  tells  me,  and 
Conrad.  We  are  all  especially  anxious  to  hear  the  truth  of  that 
affair  at  Shiloh— " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know,  though  that's  litile,"  shifting  Joe  to 
the  other  side.  "  Do  you  know,"  in  an  eager  whisper,  "  this  is  the 
most  remarkable  little  ruffian  of  ours  ?  I  was  afeerd  such  a  lot  of 
women  about  'ud  make  a  milksop  of  him,  but  they  couldn't,  sir. 
They  couldn't !  He's  got  the  build  of  a  great  Newfoundland  dog, 
and  the  courage  of  one.  The  child's  a  study  !  " 

"  So  ?  "  said  Randolph,  with  an  amused  glance  at  his  wife.  But 
he  liked  Burley  none  the  less  for  it.  When  the  old  man  lifted  the 
child  down  he  glanced  shrewdly  from  father  to  son. 

"  I  be'n't  afeerd  of  Joe  when  his  time  of  trial  comes,"  he  thought 
secretly.  "  He's  got  his  mother's  straightforward  eyes  and  merciful 
mouth,  and  ther's  the  true  honor  for  you  !  " 

"  We'll  begin  life  afresh,  Rosslyn,"  her  husband  said.  "  The  pro 
perty  in  Kentucky,  although  it  remains  ours,  is  left  valueless  by  the 
war.  But  I've  heart  for  work  now.  I'll  open  my  laboratory  to 
morrow.  "  It  is  hardly  fair,"  he  added,  laughing.  "  All  dramas, 
from  the  old  fairy  stories  to  the  last  novel,  end  in  a  glitter  of 
gold." 

"Except  the  real  ones  which  God  orders,"  she  said.  "They  of- 
tenest  end  in  love,  plenty  of  hard  work,  and  the  poor  at  your  gate." 

"Here  are  Nathan  and  his  father  at  ours,"  he  said,  turning 
toward  the  road.  "  I  came  across  the  fields  to  gain  a  moment  with 
you  alone.  And  this  little  girl — "  he  stopped  short,  remembering 
he  had  just  told  his  wife  that  they  were  penniless,  while  the  child, 
with  her  frightened  little  face  and  outlandish  dress,  shrank  fartlier 
back  into  a  corner  of  the  fence.  "I  brought  Jnney  home  to  live 
with  us,  Rosslyn." 

Ross  asked  not  a  single  question,  even  with  her  eyes.  She  put 
her  arms  around  the  poor  baby  and  kissed  her.  "  I've  often  wished 
for  just  such  a  little  girl  to  have  for  my  own.  I've  a  little  white 
bed  ready  for  you  to  sleep  on,  Janey,"  and  kept  the  thin  little  hand 
in  hers  all  day. 

Thgn  she  shook  hands  with  Nathan  and  his  father.  "  You  will 
come  in  with  me  for  a  little  while,"  she  said  to  Hugh.  Her  voice 
trembled  a  little  as  she  turned  to  the  tired,  cowed,  little  man  be 
side  him.  "There  is  a  phice  made  ready  for  you  in  the  cottage 
yonder.  You  have  had  a  long  journey.  I  hope  you  will  find  rest 


352  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

there."  And  they  all  stood  and  watched  him  as  he  went  slowly 
across  the  fields  toward  his  home. 

It  was  a  bright  little  room  in  which  Anny  found  herself  when 
the  door  closed  behind  her,  a  sort  of  keeping  room  into  which  the 
tidy  kitchen  opened.  There  was  a  blue  and  oak  rag  carpet  on  the 
floor,  chintz-covered  chairs,  a  shelf  with  books,  and  some  simple 
vases  with  trailing,  scarlet  flowers,  and  one  or  two  cheerful  pictures 
on  the  white  wall.  Anny  was  a  born  housekeeper.  She  grew 
heated  and  eager  over  the  little  home,  though  she  made  it  ready  for 
strangers,  went  through  the  two  bedrooms  giving  a  careful  glance 
to  the  strong,  white  sheets,  the  snowy  boards  of  the  floor,  the  shin 
ing  little  mirrors,  then  spread  the  table  and  placed  on  it  the 
materials  for  dinner,  which  she  found  in  the  cupboard.  It  was  long 
since  she  had  shed  a  tear  over  her  own  poor  plan  of  a  home  with 
Nathan  and  her  boy,  but  this  was  very  like  that  old  fancy  !  and  it 
had  been  so  idle  and  childish  in  a  freed  slave!  Nathan  lay  long 
ago  dead  in  some  pit  of  the  battle  fields. 

She  placed  the  last  dish  on  the  cosy  little  table,  then  tied  on  her 
bonnet  to  go.  Tom  came  in  walking  stiffly  erect  as  usual,  to  hide 
his  small  height.  "  Ther's  a  boy  among  the  folks  that's  coining 
here  to  live,"  he  said,  "  I  see  a  sled  and  a  box  of  tools  and  here's  them 
books."  He  passed  his  forefinger  with  a  wistful  look  across  their 
backs. 

"Kin  you  not  read  the  back  of  one  of  them,  sonny  boy  ? " 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  long  breath.  "Wher  you  goin', 
Mammy  ?  You  look  as  if  dar  wur  a  ghost  fur  you  in  dis  house. 
Hyur  comes  de  man  dat  owns  it ! "  peering  eagerly  out  of  the 
window.  "  I'll  go  meet  him ;  I'll  bring  him  in." 

The  stooped  little  man  outside  of  the  door  put  his  hand  on  his 
head.  "  Dar's  a  fine  fellow  !  I'se  come  to  live  wid  you,  my  little 
man ! " 

"Wher's  yer  people?"  demanded  Tom.  "We've  bin  makin' 
ready  for  you  all." 

"  I'se  got  no  people.  Dar's  only  my  ole  father  an'  me."  He 
stopped,  passed  his  gaudy  handkerchief  over  his  forehead,  and 
stood  in  the  door  looking  vacantly  down  the  road  as  if  he  had  for 
gotten  to  go  in. 

"  My  mother's  inside,"  stooping  to  pick  a  dandelion  ball.  The 
man  turned,  as  if  soul  and  body  were  tired  alike,  and,  passing 
slowly  through  the  little  room,  opened  the  door  beyond. 

Tom,  outside,  heard  a  moment  a  low,  stifled  cry,  and  then  there 
was  a  great  silence. 

The  sun  set  redly  on  Ross'  holiday  ;  threw  cool,  broad  shadows 
of  the  great  walnut  trees  across  the  grassy  slope  in  front  of  Na 
than's  little  cottage,  where  they  all  had  gathered.  The  far  quiet 
of  night  brooded  in  the  dulling,  melancholy  horizon,  in  the  dark- 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  353 

ening  woods,  in  the  drowsy  murmur  of  the  distant  water  courses, 
a  low  harvest  moon  set  its  crescent  in  the  gray  west;  but  near  at 
hand  the  crimson  light  flamed  against  the  windows,  the  falling  dew 
called  out  the  fragrance  of  the  clover-fields ;  the  birds,  whose  nests 

O  7 

were  up  in  the  walnut  trees,  chirped  good  night,  and  woke  to  chirp 
it  again.  Nathan  stood  beside  old  Joe,  who  had  his  boy  asleep  on 
his  knee.  The  mulatto  was  silent,  but  his  eyes  followed  Tom  and 
his  mother  unceasingly,  with  a  hunger  yet  unsatisfied. 

"  Anny  is  your  wife  at  .last,  Nathan  ?  "  said  Joe. 

"Yes,  suh.  Mr.  Conrad,  he  said  dem  words  to-day.  But  dey 
could  n't  make  us  nearer  than  we  was  before.  'Pears  to  me,  suh," 
after  a  pause,  "  Tom's  uncommon  large  for  his  years.  His  mother 
she  was  feared  I'd  think  him  sickly.  Now,  I  tink  I  neber  saw  a 
boy  as  fine  growed." 

Hugh,  who  was  sitting  in  a  great  wooden  chair,  near  the  door, 
his  gray  head  nodding  over  his  usual  wide,  white  collar,  looked 
gravely  at  Tom,  playing  at  his  feet.  "  He's  got  de  skill  ob  de  fam 
ily.  I  allays  knowed  he'd  come  back  to  me." 

"lie  takes  him  for  my  brother,"  whispered  Nathan.  "He  don't 
seem  to  understan'  de  new  life  beginnin',  nor  de  home,  nor  me,  nor 
Anny.  De  little  lad  he  lost  fills  up  de  world  for  him." 

"  The  Good  Man  is  mighty  tender  with  us  old  folks,"  said  Joe. 
"  He  ginerally  sends  a  little  child  to  lead  us  softly  down  into  the 
dark  valley."  He  held  the  curly  head  closer  to  his  breast,  and  was 
silent. 

"  I've  had  a  strange  feelin',"  said  Nathan,  lowering  his  voice,  "  all 
of  to-day,  that  before  it  was  over  my  brother  would  come  back  to 
us." 

"I  always  thought  he'd  come  back,"  said  Joe,  sententiously. 
"  It's  not  nateral  that  a  man  with  his  body  tingling  with  life  like 
his  was  should  go  down  into  the  darkness,  and  make  no  sign." 

"  I  tink  he'll  come  to-night,"  said  the  mulatto,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  far  shadow.  "He  was  keener  to  hear  and  see  than  oder  men. 
I  tink,  alive  or  dead,  lie'll  know  how  some  of  us  here  missed  him 
dis  day."  He  turned  away  quickly. 

Rosslyn  stood,  with  Anny,  under  a  great  willow ;  its  trailing 
branches  sifted  the  light  in  flickering  gleams  over  her  delicate  dress 
and  the  tender  beauty  of  her  face;  the  homely,  yellow  features  of 
the  mulatto  were  in  shadow.  The  two  women  had  been  talking 
together  for  a  long  time;  there  had  been  tears  in  their  eyes  more 
than  once.  "  There  can  be  no  alms-giving  from  me  to  you,"  Ross 
lyn  had  said  at  the  end.  "  We  all  owe  to  each  other  a  debt,  and  I 
but  try  to  pay  it." 

Then  she  turned  to  the  vast  sweep  of  landscape  over  which  the 
solemn  shadows  were  slowly  falling,  and  stood  silently  looking  at 
it.  "My  boy  has  a  grand  inheritance,"  she  said  at  last,  half  to 
23 


354  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

herself.  "  To  breathe  this  free  air  is  of  itself  a  birthright  for 
him." 

"Missus — ?"  the  mulatto  hesitated. 

Ross  turned  to  her,  attentive. 

"  Kin  you  say  the  same  of  mine  ?  I'm  not  ungrateful,  God 
knows,"  hastily.  "  Freedom  and  elo's,  and  a  home  of  our  own,  is 
ranch.  But  it's  not  all.  Forgive  me.  A  mudder  kerries  her  chile's 
life  on  her  heart  when  he's  a  man,  jes  as  before  he  was  born ;  you 
know  dat.  I  wondered  what  was  my  boy's  birthright  in  dis  country." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Ross,  gently. 

"  Dar's  power  in  Tom's  head,  Missus,  and  dar's  bad  passions  in 
his  blood,  and  ef  dar's  no  work  given  to  de  one,  de  oder  has  its 
work  ready.  He  must  be  a  man  or  a  beast,  an'  dat  soon.  I  tink 
of  it  night  an'  day.  I'm  his  mudder.  Dar's  four  millions  of  his 
people  like  him ;  waitin'  for  de  whites  to  say  which  dey  shall  be — 
men  or  beasts.  Waitin'  for  the  verdict,  madam." 

"  I  might  say  the  same  of  my  child,"  uneasily. 

Anny's  jaws  grew  gray.  "I'll  speak  de  truf,"  with  an  effort. 
"  De  blood's  different.  Your  chile  has  no  slave  blood  in  his  veins ; 
and  de  slave  was  drove,  generation  after  generation,  to  lyin'  and 
thievin'  an'  lust  by  de  whip  of  de  master.  De  white  man  had  his 
books  and  his  politics,  and  hunderds  of  ways  open  fur  workin'  or 
pleasure ;  de  black  man  had  only  his  victuals,  an'  dances  and  viler 
ways  I  ken't  mention.  It's  told  on  our  blood.  De  debt  de  whites 
owes  us  is  to  give  us  a  chance  to  show  what  stuff's  in  us.  Your 
chile  has  every  chance  open  to  him ;  but  dar's  few  schools  in  de 
country  beside  dem  kept  by  de  Quakers  dat  will  admit  a  cullored 
boy  or  girl.  Dey  calls  us  lazy  an'  idle,  but  wher's  de  mechanics' 
shop  or  factory  open  for  Tom  to  learn  a  trade  ?  What  perfession 
is  free  to  him  ?  His  hands  is  tied.  His  father  giv'  his  blood  free 
for  de  country,"  proudly.  "  He  has  a  right  to  ask  de  chance  for 
his  son  dat  neber  was  gib  to  himself! " 

"  The  negroes  will  be  given  a  vote,"  confidently. 

"  I  don'  see  what  real  use  to  dem  dat  is  yet,"  gravely,  "  only  to 
make  dem  feel  dey  is  men.  It's  edication  my  people  needs,  and 
ways  for  work.  It's  de  fever  time  wid  'em  now  in  de  Souf ;  dey's 
mad  for  de  chance  to  learn.  Ole  men  an'  young  stretch  out  dere 
hands  for  de  books.  It  won't  last  if  dey're  balked  now ;  dey'll 
sink  back  lower  dan  before ;  dey'll  take  to  drinking  and  brutishness. 
Ef  you  sweep  out  de  room  and  keep  it  empty,  de  seven  debbils  '11 
enter  in,  an'  de  state  ob  dat  man  '11  be  worse  dan  de  first.  De  next 
five  years  is  de  trial  day  for  us,  an'  a  little  help  now  'ud  do  more 
than  millions  after  a  while." 

"  I  think,"  Ross  hesitated,  "  one  reason  of  the  coolness  with  which 
the  whites  listen  to  your  cry  for  help  is,  the  dislike  to  the  thoughts 
of  intermarriage." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  355 

"  Bar's  no  danger  of  many  marriages,"  said  Anny,  gravely  and 
significantly ;  "  an'  as  for  mixin'  de  blood,  it's  been  the  fault  ob  de 
whites  when  dat  eber  was  done.  Dar'll  be  less  of  it  when  cullored 
women  is  larned  to  respect  themselves.  O,  Missus !  dat  talk  of 
marry  in'  is  sech  a  fur-off  shadder !  But  the  ignorance  an'  disgrace 
ob  my  people  is  no  shadder  !  " 

Ottley,  with  Mr.  Conrad,  had  strolled  within  hearing.  He 
listened  with  a  pitying  Humph !  "  It's  curious,"  he  said,  "  how 
deep  and  wide  the  feeling  is  among  the  colored  people  that  now 
is  their  day  of  salvation,  and  the  desperate,  pathetic  efforts  the 
upper  classes  among  them  are  making  for  the  chance  to  '  try 
what  stuff  is  in  them,'  as  she  says.  I  heard  you  preach  a  mis 
sionary  sermon  last  night,  Conrad.  I  think  the  freedman  stretch 
ing  out  his  hands  to  know  whether  he  shall  be  man  or  brute  for 
future  generations,  is  the  most  real  cry  for  help  now,  to  us,  in  the 
world." 

"The  niggers  in  Baker  Street  that  Margaret  teaches  are  real 
enough  ! "  muttered  the  old  man.  His  conscience  wrenched  him 
as  he  said  it.  If  Meg  had  gone  out  bearing  the  church's  alms  and 
good  tidings  to  any  heathen  river  or  palmy  plain,  he  would  have 
held  her  as  a  martyr.  But  going  down  to  her  eight-by-ten  darkey 
school-room,  or  to  Georgia  rice-fields — Pah  ! 

"  I  had  a  dispatch  from  young  Markle,  at  Washington,"  said 
Ottley.  "  His  regiment  is  discharged.  I  look  for  him  here  to 
night." 

A  quick  change  flashed  over  the  blind  man's  face.  "Broderip 
will  come  with  him  !  I  had  a  presentiment  that  he  would  be  here 
to-day." 

Both  men  turned,  involuntarily,  glancing  at  a  woman's  figure 
Bitting  on  the  brink  of  the  stream  below. 

"If  Broderip  came  to  her  now?"  said  Ottley,  doubtfully. 
"After  all  that  he  has  done  ?  " 

"  It  would  avail  nothing.  The  negro  blood  is  between  them. 
And  yet—" 

"  No,  Markle  will  win  her  in  time,"  Ottley  broke  in,  hurriedly. 
"  No  woman  can  withstand  a  persistent,  healthy,  honest  love,  such 
as  he  gives  her." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  absently.  "  It  grows  late,"  passing  his  hand 
uneasily  over  his  sightless  eyes.  "  I  feel  the  wind  rising.  I  think 
Broderip  will  come  to-night.  The  blind  have  another  sense  than 
yours,  and  I  have  felt  my  old  friend  drawing  nearer  to  me  all  day." 

"  Your  day  is  nearly  over,  sweetheart,"  said  Randolph,  as  he 
came  for  her  to  bring  them  all  into  the  house,  whose  warm,  lighted 
doors  stood  hospitably  open.  "  The  dew  is  falling,  and  the  sun  is 
almost  down." 

"  I  will  go  for  Margaret,*  said  Ottley,  and  then  stopped  sud- 


356  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

denly;  the  whistle  of  the  train  by  which  Markle  was  to  arrive 
came  through  the  cut  in  the  hill.  The  two  men  stood  waiting  with 
anxious  faces. 

"Do  you  see  him?"  said  Conrad,  with  a  breathless,  hurried 
movement.  "  Is  he  alone  ?  Some  sign  or  word  must  come  to-night 
from  John  Broderip  out  of  the  darkness,  Ottley  !  " 

Ottley  did  not  answer ;  he  bent  forward  watching  a  shadow  dis 
entangle  itself  from  the  gathering  twilight,  and  cross  the  fields  in 
the  valley  below,  pausing  a  moment,  and  then  going  direct  to  the 
place  where  Margaret  sat. 

It  was  the  spare,  straight  figure  of  the  young  Lieutenant,  and  he 
was  alone. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

JOHN  BRODEEIP. 

ABOVE,  an  April  day,  as  God  sent  it;  bright  with  sunshine,  and 
moist  with  dew :  depth  after  depth,  in  the  heaven,  if  any  eye  had 
cared  to  look  up,  unfolding  their  meaning  of  unending  quiet  and 
calm.  Below,  the  April  day,  as  man  made  it.  A  day,  heavy  with 
impure  sights  and  sounds;  the  low,  rolling  masses  of  cannon-smoke 
driven  across  the  creeping  river  and  flattisli  hills  by  the  heavier 
fumes  and  smoke  of  burning  houses ;  the  air  throbbing  dully  in  the 
crowded  streets  and  lanes,  shaken  at  intervals  by  the  roar  of  an 
exploded  mine ;  stench  driving  stench ;  flame  following  flame,  and 
by  their  light,  masses  of  black  faces  lining  the  streets  watching  the 
entrance  of  a  negro  regiment.  There  was  the  ordinary  mixture  of 
the 'absurd  with  the  terrible;  the  town,  with  its  country  build  of 
houses  and  ill-paved  streets,  seemed  insignificant  enough  to  eyes 
accustomed  to  Northern  cities ;  it  seemed  hardly  credible  that  the 
passage  of  this  handful  of  troops  through  this  mile  of  street  consti 
tuted  the  culmination  of  one  of  the  great  crises  of  the  world's  his 
tory  ;  that  as  the  black  regiment  entered  Richmond,  every  footfall 
made  sure  the  freedom  of  a  race  and  the  perpetuity  of  a  govern 
ment. 

Markle,  who  had  been  detailed  for  the  day  on  Gen.  Weitzel's 
staff,  sneered  as  his  horse  waded  through  the  gutters,'  and 
choked  in  the  stifling  smoke.  It  was  hard  for  the  downright  fellow 
to  idealize  the  death  struggle  of  an  aristocratic  government  in  these 
shrieking  women,  or  the  birth  of  a  new  people  in  the  bodies  of  half- 
frightened,  half-delighted  negroes  capering  from  square  to  square 
in  the  abandoned  finery  of  their  masters.  Through  the  struggling 
mass  and  over  their  heads,  the  yellow,  sulphurous  smoke  eddied  and 
rolled,  and  through  the  tumult,  the  timed  clangor  of  the  wind 
instruments  sounded  like  the  panting  of  an  animal  led  captive, 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  357 

rather  than  music.  "  It  is  the  death  wail  of  slavery  !  "  said  a  young 
Ohioan,  who  rode  abreast  with  Markle,  his  eyes  kindling.  "It  was 
a  wonderful  stroke  of  poetic  justice  that  yon  black  regiment  should 
be  the  first  to  enter  Richmond,  and  enter,  too,  with  such  grave  and 
solemn  calm.  I  saw  one,  a  young  officer  who  led  the  front,  who 
seemed  to  me  the  very  incarnation  of  his  people's  triumph.  A 
thin,  small  mulatto,  who  had  just  been  released  from  a  Southern 
prison,  they  told  me ;  his  face  was  meagre,  and  starved,  and  yel 
low,  but  it  had  all  the  tragedy  of  his  race  in  it.  Whatever  these 
brutes  may  be,"  nodding  to  the  thick-lipped,  credulous  faces  about 
his  stirrups,  "  that  man  carried  all  their  loss  and  all  their  triumph 
in  his  soul  to-day.  A  shot  from  the  sidewalk  struck  him  down,  but 
he  bade  them  lift  him  on  his  horse  again,  and  he  rode  in  at  the 
head  of  his  men." 

Markle,  telling  this  story  in  his  own  way  to  Miss  Conrad,  as 
she  sat  on  the  bank  of  the  creek,  in  the  evening  twilight,  paused 
here. 

She  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

He  drew  himself  erect  as  if  bracing  his  strength  and  went  on, 
faithfully  as  he  had  done  before,  omitting  no  particular. 

"  I  was  used  to  young  Petrie's  enthusiasm  and  exaggerated  talk, 
but  this  story  impressed  me  more  than  usual.  I  thought  1 
recognized  the  man.  It  was  nearly  a  year  since  I  had  lost  sight  of 
Doctor  Broderip.  Before  that  we  had  often  gone  into  battle  side 
by  side.  He  fought  desperately,  cool  and  daring  as  a  tiger.  In 
all  the  war  I  knew  no  braver  man." 

"You  need  not  dwell  on  what  he  is.  I  know  all  that  you  would 
say." 

The  heat  faded  in  Markle's  face.  "  As  soon  as  I  could  leave  my 
post  I  went  in  search  of  the  wounded  man.  I  found  him  without 
difficulty.  As  I  thought,  it  was  Broderip.  The  men  of  his  com 
pany,  had  carried  him  out  of  the  reach  of  the  smoke  and  confusion 
to  a  patch  of  delicate  green  grass  just  beginning  to  color  the  side 
of  the  hill  back  of  the  town,  and  had  heaped  their  coats  to  make 
a  support  for  his  back,  lie  held  out  his  hand  to  me  with  his  old 
eager  smile.  '  Our  work  is  done,  done  to-day,  comrade,'  he  said. 

"Haifa  dozen  big  black  fellows  were  about  him,  trying  in  a  cu 
riously'  gentle  way,  to  make  his  body  easier;  they  drew  off  shyly 
when  the  white  men  came  near,  but  waited  a  few  steps  off,  watch 
ing  him  anxiously. 

"'They  brought  half  of  the  company's  rations  for  my  dinner,'  he 
Baid,  with  a  quizzical,  affectionate  laugh,  pointing  to  the  piles  of 
army  bread  and  meat  on  a  stone  near  him. 

"  Farr,  the  surgeon,  who  was  looking  at  his  wound,  said  :  '  I  wish 
they  or  I  could  do  more  for  you,  Doctor  Broderip  ! '  The  two  men 
had  been  friends  in  the  North. 


358  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

"  'A  little  water  and  this  cool  air,'  lie  said.  *  I'll  need  no  more. 
But  my  veins  are  on  fire.  '  This  blood  of  mine,'  looking  up  with  a 
smile,  '  will  be  troublesome  to  the  last.' 

"  FaiT  turned  pale.  '  Yes.  But  you  will  be  done  with  it  in  a  few 
hours.  Thank  God !  there  is  no  such  thing  as  race  yonder.' 

"  Broderip  was  silent.  '  In  a  few  hours,  did  you  say,  George  ? J 
he  asked,  after  a  while.  The  surgeon  nodded,  and  turned  away. 
There  was  a  long  silence  after  that." 

Markle  stopped,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground.  Miss  Conrad 
had  risen  as  he  spoke,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  her  pale,  controlled  face  turned  to  the  south.  He  glanced  at 
it ;  even  in  that  moment  his  lover's  eye  saw  tender,  womanly  lines 
there,  which  he  had  never  seen  before.  "  She  is  terribly  alone  ;  she 
is  famished  with  solitude,"  he  thought,  and  his  heart  throbbed. 
She  motioned  him  to  go  on ;  he  began  to  speak  again,  careful,  as 
before,  lest  by  some  word  too  little  he  might  be  dishonest  to  the 
honor  of  his  rival. 

"I'm  not  a  man  given  to  fancy;  but  it  seemed  to  me,"  he  said 
gently,  "  that  the  air  grew  softer  after  that  as  it  touched  the  face 
lying  on  the  heaped  up  coats,  and  the  ripple  of  the  river  louder, 
and  the  sunlight  more  cheery,  as  if  Nature  had  loved  the  man,  and 
was  glad  he  was  coming  home  again.  One  of  the  negroes  came 
up,  regardless  of  the  presence  of  the  whites,  and  squatting  down, 
took  one  of  Broderip's  delicate  hands  in  his  yellow  palms.  The 
strong  features  of  his  race  came  out  by  contrast,  the  sensual  lips, 
the  melancholy  brow.  '  This  man  was  with  me  in  the  Strebling 
stables,'  Broderip  said  to  us.  '  Half  of  my  life  belongs  to  him. 
It  seems  but  a  little  while  ago  since  you  and  I  were  currying  old 
Thunder,  eh,  Zed  ? '  The  negro  choked  as  he  tried  to  answer. 
Fair  stood  up  with  a  muttered  exclamation. 

"  Broderip  looked  up  quickly  at  him.  '  No  ;  they  were  not  years 
wasted,'  he  said. 

"  '  I  know  what  your  life  would  have  been  worth  to  science  and 
the  world,'  the  other  surgeon  said,  almost  roughly.  '  If  it  were 
not  for  this  accident  of  birth,  you  would  not  have  been  here  to-day, 
dying  nameless  and  unknown.' 

" '  No,  I  would  not  have  been  here  to-day,'  he  said  softly.  *  But 
it  was  given  to  me  to  die  for  my  people — to  me !  "  and  his  pale 
hazel  eyes  grew  brilliant  as  they  never  were  in  life,  with  a  look 
before  which  we  stood  awed  and  silent.  He  looked  up  at  Farr, 
presently,  and  said :  '  I've  been  a  happy  man  since  I  came  among 
my  own — a  happy  man,  George  ;  and  I  have  lived  to  see  the  free 
dom  of  my  race  to-day.'  Farr  told  me  afterward,  that  that  one 
thought  of  his  race  had  seemed  to  absorb  all  others ;  the  finding 
of  that  work  in  life  had  renewed  the  man ;  made  him  pure,  strong 
and  humble  beyond  belief  of  any  who  had  known  him  in  other 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT.  359 

days.  To  the  last,  his  eye  lighted  when  a  black  face  passed  before 
him,  and  maintained  a  keen,  sorrowful  scrutiny  of  them.  I  saw 
the  same  look  when  a  group  of  poor  whites  came  near.  *  It  was  a 
two-edged  sword,  slavery,'  he  said,  *  and  cut  down  the  master  and 
the  slave.  O,  the  work  that,  is  needed  here  !  and  the  infinite  pity, 
— infinite  pity  ! '  Once  he  said  to  Farr,  '  there  are  latent  elements 
of  great  strength  in  my  people,  if  they  are  developed  aright ;  they 
are  a  generous,  imaginative,  affectionate  race,  and  faithful  to  God 
as  they  knew  Him.  I  hoped  to  have  done  something  for  them. 
But  there  are  others  who  will  do  the  work.  When  the  day  was  at 
the  turn,  he  began  to  sink — when  the  sun  was  near  its  height " 

She  bowed  with  the  same  abstracted  look  in  her  eyes.  They 
might  have  been  those  of  a  seer,  he  fancied.  "  I  know  the  hour— 
I  knew  it  when  it  came,"  speaking  to  herself. 

"  We  knew  then  that  his  strength  was  gone." 

So  far,  Markle  had  gone  on  earnestly,  without  break  or  hindrance, 
in  his  recital ;  but  he  stopped  now,  the  blood  leaving  his  bearded 
face,  his  voice  becoming  low  and  strenuous.  "Miss  Conrad, 
hitherto  I  have  spoken  but  of  my  friend  and  yours  that  is  dead.  It 
is  no  time  to  speak  of  myself." 

She  turned,  looking  at  him. 

"  Another  time  I  will  urge  upon  you  claims  with  which  the  past 
has  nothing  to  do.  If  I  advert  to  them  now,  or  if  I  brought  them 
before  Doctor  Broderip  in  his  last  hour,  it  was  because  I  felt  that 
before  Death  there  should  be  no  concealments.  1  may  have  been 
wrong — I  am  a  blunt  man " 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  passed  over  her  colorless  face. 

"  You  will  pardon  me  if  this  matter  is  dragged  before  you  in  an 
unseemly  manner.  My  business  to-night  is  but  to  tell  you  this 
story :  my  own  chance  for  a  new  life  can  wait.  But  it  seemed 
honorable  to  speak  of  it  plainly  to  Doctor  Broderip.  My  instincts, 
it  may  be,  are  not  so  keen  as  his  were." 

"  As  they  are,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Some  day  my  friend  will  come 
to  me ;  and  with  all  his  whims,  with  all  his  moods,  as  he  left  me. 
There  is  no  such  word  as  dead,  to  me." 

Markle  looked  at  her  with  a  puzzled  face  for  a  moment,  and  then 
went  on,  clearing  his  throat.  "  I  went  to  him  where  he  lay,  and 
stooped  down,  while  the  others  drew  apart.  I  said  some  words  to 
him.  They  were  of  you,  Miss  Conrad.  I  told  him  that  when  the 
war  was  over,  I  would  seek  to  make  you  my  wife.  But  if,  out  of 
the  old  love  he  bore  you,  he  had  a  message  to  send  you,  I  would 
carry  it  faithfully. 

" '  I  know  you  would,  Markle,'  he  said,  and  then  his  eyes  wan- 
dered  off,  and  rested  on  the  distant  sky  line.  The  words  I  had 
spoken  cost  me  great  pain  and  difficulty,  Miss  Conrad.  I  thought 
if  the  feeling  you  had  for  him  had  begun  to  fade,  his  message  would 


360  WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT. 

revive  it.  But  I  thought  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  Any  right 
thing  seemed  easy  to  do  by  the  side  of  John  Broderip,  dying.  I 
repeated  the  words,  '  I  will  carry  it  faithfully.' 

"  '  There  is  no  need  for  any  word  to  pass  from  me  to  Margaret," 
he  said,  smiling.  Long  afterward,  however,  when  the  thoughts  in 
his  brain  came  to  his  lips  without  his  will,  as  they  do  in  dying,  he 
whispered  your  name  with  great  tenderness,  and  beckoned  rne 
nearer,  groping  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt  for  this  string  of  shells. 
'  Give  them  to  her  from  me,'  he  said." 

Markle  held  out  the  little  toy  to  her,  his  face  paler  than  hers 
when  he  gave  it.  She  hid  it  in  her  large,  nervous  hand,  her  eyes 
still  turned  to  the  South.  It  was  noticeable  that  she  never  looked 
to  the  speaker,  but  listened  as  if  some  message  came  to  her  from  a 
presence  invisible  to  him. 

He  spoke  now  with  an  effort.  "He  was  greatly  emaciated  by 
his  long  confinement.  -His  body  looked  puny  enough  when  we  laid 
him  down  on  the  pile  of  coats,  being  too  weak  to  sit  up  longer. 
His  eyes  wandered  over  the  pale  blue  sky,  which  was  bright  now 
with  the  Spring  sunshine.  We  stood  about  him  in  silence/knowing 
the  end  was  near,  the  poor  negroes  holding  their  breath,  and 
watching  first  his  face,  and  then  ours,  to  know  if  there  was  any 
chance.  Once,  seeing  his  lips  move,  I  bent  close  to  listen  ;  he  was 
muttering  incessantly  of  c  his  people — his  people.'  After  that,  he 
looked  up  faintly,  and  asked  the  time. 

"  Farr  told  him,  '  Eleven.  Yours  is  a  broken  day,  Doctor  Brode 
rip,'  he  added,  bitterly. 

"  A  quick  smile  flickered  over  his  face ;  sudden  of  apprehension 
to  the  last.  '  A  broken  day,'  he  said,  faintly,  '  But  it  is  near  noon, 
George,  near  noon !'  and  in  a  moment  or  two,  stretching  out  his 
hand,  he  took  Fair's  in  his  own,  turned  his  head  gently  on  one  side, 
and  closed  his  eyes. 

"  That  was  all."  ^ 

He  left  her  for  a  time,  thinking  it  dishonorable  to  even  glance 
into  her  face. 

He  walked  along  the  dark,  slow-dropping  river,  and  then  turned 
up»through  the  fields.  The  windows  of  the  little  tenant  house 
were  open,  and  within  he  saw  Nathan's  smiling  face  with  his  wife's 
close  beside  it,  both  listening  to  some  talk  of  Tom's,  while  the  gray- 
headed  old  man  nodded  solemnly  in  the  corner.  A  little  farther 
on,  the  red  light  streamed  from  Ross'  happy  home — such  a  home 
as  he  hoped  to  make  for  the  woman  he  loved.  He  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Conrad  and  Ottley,  but  he  did  not  go  in.  He  was  in  no  mood 
to  give  pleasure  to  old  friends,  he  thought ;  he  had  tried  to  be 
honest  and  unenvious  to-night,  yet  there  was  a  dull  uncertainty,  an 
ache  at  his  heart,  new  to  it,  which  was  different  from  any  wound 
in  battle. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  VERDICT  861 

A  sudden  chiming  sound  just  then  filled  the  air ;  'o  was  only  the 
bells  upon  a  great  wagon  which  old  Burley,  and  tte  golden  -haired 
little  boy  on  his  shoulder,  were  ringing  in  the  stable ;  y°t  he  saw 
Ross  start  up  from  the  fireside  and  come  to  the  window,  with  a 
light  in  her  face  as  if  she  had  heard  prophetic  music  from  her  child 
hood,  or  from  the  heavenly  hills. 

Markle  turned,  and  went  back  to  Margaret.  "  I  am  going  to 
leave  you,"  he  said  abruptly.  "I  came  to  say  good-night.  Some 
day  I  will  come  to  you  again." 

"  Good-night."  She  detained  him  with  her  hand  ;  the  grasp  was 
warm  and  frank.  A  sweet  and  gracious  womanhood  which  he  had 
never  felt  in  her  before,  breathed  from  her,  the  content  of  one 
whose  work  and  reward  in  life  were  sure  and  sufficing. 

"  You  must  come  to  me  again,"  she  said.  "  I  know  you  for  all 
that  you  are,  my  friend." 

He  made  her  no  reply.  Far  up  the  road,  however,  in  the  shade 
of  the  hill,  he  turned,  and  looked  down  at  the  cheerful  lights  and 
the  motionless  figure  sitting  again  by  the  side  of  the  current,  hei 
hands  clasped  about  her  knees,  her  eyes  turned  to  the  south.  He 
watched  her  until  the  low  moon  showed  him  the  strange  strength 
in  her  tender  face,  and  the  uninterpreted  meanings  that  in  thes* 
later  years  spoke  from  it.  Is  it  work  she  has  found  to  do  that 
daily  gives  to  her  fresh  breaths  of  life  from  God  ?  Will  she 
some  day  be  the  stronger,  more  loving  wife  and  mother  because 
she  has  been  one  of  God's  helpers? 

Or,  is  it  that  the  dead  speaks  to  her,  and  that  she  makes  answer 
as  she  will  never  do  to  his  living  love  ? 

The  little  soldier  draws  a  long,  brave  breath  as  he  turns  away. 
Come  what  may,  what  better  thing  is  there  for  a  manly  man  to  do 
than  to  share  in  her  despised  work  ? 

Broderip,  in  his  grave  yonder,  has  not  saved  his  people  from 
their  balked,  incomplete  lives.  The  country  which  he  and  they 
have  served  is  still  silent,  while  they  stand  waiting  its  verdict. 
Does  that  mean  that  he,  George  Markle,  in  any  village  in  America 
can  to-day  find  Christ's  very  work  to  do  ;  find  His  obloquy,  and,  in 
God's  good  time,  His  reward  ? 


THE    END. 


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